


The One Where Natasha's Vodka Is Bad Luck

by ThePandoricaWillOpen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Brock/Bucky, Clint Is a Good Bro, Clint Ships It, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Deaf Clint Barton, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining Bucky Barnes, Sam Ships It, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Uncle Phil Coulson, anxiety attack trigger warning for chapter 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePandoricaWillOpen/pseuds/ThePandoricaWillOpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Natasha brings her Russian Vodka, everyone knows to stay away. Except Bucky. This is what he gets for drinking that god-awful stuff.</p><p>Or, the one where It took 16 years for Bucky to tell Steve his feelings and Steve to realize what he already felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Steve asks Bucky to be his best man at his wedding with Sharon. Only problem is, Bucky is tired of waiting for Steve to realise he’s been in love with him forever.
> 
> Sorry (not sorry).

“Hey, Stevie, you said you wanted to talk?”

“Um, yeah, I need to ask you something actually. I - something I've been meaning to ask you.”

“O-okay,” Bucky said slowly, his heart beating in his chest. Was this it? Was he about to declare his undying love for Bucky? Say he’d dumped Sharon because he realized Bucky was the love of his life, always has been? He took a deep breath, trying (and failing) to not get his hopes up after what happened last night. God only knows what Bucky revealed after taking Vodka shots with Natasha. “So… Spit it out, Stevie. What's so important it's got you all flushed up like a tomato.” A beautiful, Adonis tomato that Bucky would love to stick his -

“I don't know how to say it,” Steve started. “It's been a long time coming, I think. Should've asked a while ago but stuff got in the way and… Well.”

“What?” Bucky said breathless. _This is it_ , he thought, _he’s gonna say he loves m-_

 _“_ I'm gonna ask Sharon to marry me!”

 _No…_  Bucky’s stomach took a dive as his heart shattered in his chest. _You can't marry her, Stevie,_ he wanted to say, _she isn't the one. I am. I'm the one. I've always been the one._

“Buck?”

Bucky leaned back on the kitchen counter, hands grabbing on to the granite countertop and holding on for dear life. His knees felt like jelly, like the would drop his weight at any moment. He didn't look at Steve. He couldn't. He was supposed to be happy, right? Happy that Steve had found someone who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Someone who he saw himself having a family with.

_Someone who isn't me. I - fuck._

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Steve reached out for him, grabbing him by the shoulder and leaning down slightly to meet his eyes. Bucky looked away, trying very, very hard not to cry in front of his best friend. “Buck?”

“That's -” he cleared his throat “- that's great, Steve. I'm happy for you.”

“You look about as happy as my bank account does,” Steve joked. “Which is to say, not very. I spent my savings on getting her this ring and -”

“You said you wanted to ask me something,” Bucky interrupted, pulling away from Steve's grip and walking to the fridge. He opened the door, eyes looking inside but not registering anything.

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to ask if you’d be my best man. You know, once I actually ask her and stuff.”

Bucky felt all the air in his lungs leave his body as if someone had kicked him square in the chest. He leaned away from the fridge, slamming the door shut with more force that he intended. _No, no, and hell no._

He turned to Steve, finally meeting his eyes and said, “no.”

“Great, so I have to - wait, what? No?”

“No,” Bucky confirmed, walking around Steve and grabbing his stuff on the way out. He paused to check that he had everything, leather jacket Steve had given him after he got a job, keys with a keychain Steve had given him when they were kids, sunglasses that -

Steve pulled him back by the shoulder, turning him until they were face to face. “Why not?”

_I have to tell him, don't I? This is the part of the movie where the big revelation happens and the love interest has to pick between their lover and friend. If movies are anything to go by, then he'll pick me and realize - he’s not gonna pick me, though, because this isn't some Hollywood movie._

“Because, Steve,” Bucky began, taking a deep calming breath. “Because I don't think you should marry her.”

“Oh? Why not?” Bucky could see Steve clench his jaw, something he only did when he was irritated but was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to say. Bucky hated that jaw so much.

“Because.”

“Think it's too soon?" Steve dissolves in front of him, his shoulders falling. He thinks Bucky is voicing what Steve won't admit to himself like they did so many times before. Like it was a game. "That I should wait? Fuck. See this is why I wanted to talk with you and -”

“Because I'm in love with you!”

“- Get your opinion- what?”

“I said it. I said it and I'm not gonna say it again.” He could hear his voice breaking right along with his resolve. He whispered, “please don't make me say it again, Stevie.”

Steve's blue eyes hardened in a way Bucky had never seen before and this is a man who spent hours gazing into those blue eyes. He took a step back, blocking the doorway with his broad shoulders. “That's not funny.”

“I'm not- I'm not joking.”

“We're _friends_ ,” Steve said, making a gesture between them. “And you're not-”

“You never asked if I liked men,” Bucky said. “It never came up.”

“Never - never came up?!” Steve ran a hand through his short hair, pulling at it and then running both hands through his face. Bucky watched, unsure what to do. He could go around Steve, not without touching him at least. That's the last thing he wanted to do right now. “How long?”

“What?”

“How. Long.”

Bucky licked his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth and thought about it. He knew exactly when, down to the date: December 16th, 1999. He couldn't tell Steve that, not without -

“Just tell me how long!”

“Since high school! High school, okay! I've loved you since fucking high school. Is that what you wanna hear?”

Steve's eyes widened as if he hadn't been expecting it. “That's - that's a long time…”

Bucky chuckled. “I know… Trust me. I fucking know.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Steve asked softly. “Why didn't you say something? Anything?”

“And what? Ruin the best thing that's ever happened to me like I'm doing right now?” Bucky scoffed. “Besides I told you once while we were drunk and you told me you - told me you loved me like a brother.”

It had been Steve's eighteenth birthday and Bucky had been determined to, not only get him drunk, but to confess his undying love to Steve before they went their separate ways to college. Bucky knew he was going to stay in New York, probably go to community college, but Steve was better than him. Steve could go places with his art that Bucky could only dream of.

So he decided to tell him that night after the party, after Steve had had his fill of friends and wanted to do nothing but hang out with Bucky. It was tradition. Steve wouldn't break tradition. Bucky hoped it would begin another tradition, maybe one that included necking.

But then Natasha and Clint brought some Russian alcohol that had burned a hole in his chest and things began to look fuzzy around the edges. Steve hadn't drunk as much as Bucky but he was a lightweight and it went right through him. Natasha seemed to be the only one not affected by the alcohol, maintaining a cool level head with only minimal glaze over her eyes. Bucky on the other hand…

At one point, Natasha and Clint had cuddled up on the couch and popped in a movie while Steve and Bucky remained glued to the kitchen table, half empty bottle and shot glasses between them.

“How's it feel?” Bucky asked though her was pretty sure it sounded more like a garbled of words.

“I'm fiiiiine,” Steve had replied, elongating the vowels. “S’not drunk.”

“We totally are!”

“Nah, just buzzzzeddd.”

Steve stood up quickly, loosing his balance with the simple act. Even in his drunken state, Bucky’s instinct to protect Steve was strong. He leaped from his chair and was by his side before Steve’s shrunken brain had even processed what had happened.

“You punk,” Bucky whispered as he pulled Steve upright and back on the table. “You stupid, beautiful, lovable punk.”

“Shh, Bucky,” Steve whispered back, his eyes half lidded, slumping forward on the table, head resting on his crossed arms . “I'm tryna sleeeeep.”

Bucky took a deep breath and leaned forward to place a single kiss on Steve's forehead. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Steve replied sleepily. Bucky's drunken heart beat loudly in his chest, his hand coming up to smooth out Steve's hair, and smiled. _Steve loved him back! He should have told him a lon-_ “best brother ever....”

Bucky stopped smiling, pulling his hand away quickly as it began to tremble. Steve loved him but he loved him like a brother. Familial love. The way one loves family. Not … Bucky left Steve at the table and went to the bathroom hoping that, come morning, he would forget what happened.

But he hadn't forgotten. Natasha's vodka was bad fucking luck. He looked at Steve right in the eye and said, “I told you how I felt and you - Jesus. I'm not doing this, okay? Im not going to stand here and justify myself to you.”

“I was drunk! I obviously had no idea what I was -”

“So, you don't love me like a brother? You don't think of me as family?”

Steve hesitated, his eyes falling to the ground. “I do but -”

Bucky pushed passed him, reaching for the door but he felt Steve grab his shoulder and turn him once more. Bucky let him, wanting to feel Steve's touch for as long as possible before - before whatever was about to happen, happened.

“I don't remember that night,” Steve said softly. “I remember doing shots and leaning against you. And - I remember waking up on the table. You didn't talk to me for a week after that. I was scared that I had said something, done something. I thought I'd lost you…”

“Yeah, well, now you know,” Bucky replied, pulling his arm away from Steve.

“I - I don't want to lose you now.”

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed. Beautiful, wonderful, lovable Steve. He didn't want to lose him either but what was he supposed to do after a revelation like this? Go back to hiding in the dark, pretend that he didn't have feelings for Steve, and help him plan his wedding? No. Hell no. The revelation was out there. It had changed things. Just not in the way Bucky had hoped.

So, he turned to Steve and smiled. Steve returned the smile and he gave a small sigh. Bucky held his eyes and then, slowly, shook his head.

“Have a good life, Steve.”

And then Bucky did the single hardest thing he would ever had to do in his life: he walked away from Steve Rogers.

 


	2. Bucky - One Month Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky haven't had the best month... but Clint and Sam are there for them no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this went from a two-shot to a slightly larger piece than originally planned.

Bucky went an entire month avoiding Steve Rogers like the plague. It was really starting to annoy him. He had to find another fucking coffee shop, another route to work, another fucking take-out place out of fear of running into him. The morning jogs they would normally take everyday at five in the morning were cut from his schedule. Instead he volunteered to work earlier, getting up at four in the morning to get to work at five. 

It was an extreme, okay, but it made sure he didn’t see Steve and his stupid blue eyes or the sadness and pity in them. He said he didn’t remember that night, okay. But what about the late night phone calls and texts? The sleepless nights spent out on Bucky’s crappy fire escape? What about waking up pressed up against Bucky’s back, his arm around his waist, his nose on Bucky’s neck? Did he think it was all normal bestfriend behavior? Did he do these things with Sam?

So, yeah, he avoided Steve at all cost. And it was hard. He was not a morning person, he hated being up before the sun. The only reason he jogged so early was because he liked having Steve at his side, just them two alone in the city for an hour. He liked seeing the smile on Steve’s face when they raced each other. And now, not only was he getting up earlier, he was also not getting enough exercise. 

He couldn't jog in the afternoon after work, not after volunteering to work ten hour shifts every day of the week. The first week had gone fine, he could concentrate on making orders and making them right so they wouldn’t be sent back by customers. The second week was exhausting. Working as a cook in a popular 24/7 diner from the buttcrack of dawn until evening was not as pleasant as some might think. After cooking so much food all day, he barely had an appetite, let alone the energy to cook.

At least his paychecks were awesome what with the amount of over-time he was getting. His bosses were impressed with his dedication, asking him if he was willing to work longer hours. He didn’t care. He just didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts at home where he could chicken out and walk a few blocks down to Steve’s apartment and … well, he didn’t know what. He was too busy working to think of part two of that plan. It was never going to happen anyway. 

Plus, if Steve wanted to talk to him, he knew where Bucky worked. There was nothing stopping him from walking into Shield’s All-Nite Diner and asking to talk to him. Bucky didn’t know what he would do if Steve did that but since he hasn’t seen a trace of the blond in a month, he figured it wasn’t going to happen. 

When he gets into work at 5am on Monday, there are already four tickets waiting for him. The previous shift had made enough prep to hold him over for a while so that was good. His line cook was a new hire, some kid from Queens who was trying to save up money for college, but he was a smart kid and Bucky didn’t go easy on him.

“Ima work on the prep,” he says after starting the first order. “I want you to take point today. I’ll be your backup.”

“What? I’m not ready for that!”

“Well, I think you are. Don’t forget to turn your burger buns,” he replies going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“What if I go too slow or-”

“Take your time. Make sure things get done right. We can work on speed later, once you got accuracy down.” Bucky dries his hands, adding over his shoulder, “if anyone got a problem with that, they can come talk to me. Got it? Good.” 

He doesn’t wait for the kid - Peter - to respond, just puts on gloves and starts to sanitize his prep area. By the time he’s done, Peter has finished one ticket and started on another. The waitress, Kate, does a double take when she sees who’s on the line. She looks at Bucky and he shrugs. The kids gotta start somewhere, he wanted to say, but she’s already left the widow with the order. 

When tickets start coming in faster, Peter doesn’t hesitate to ask for help. That’s one thing Bucky made sure to ingrained in his young head, to ask for help when things started to look overwhelming. It isn’t too bad, just five tickets, but Bucky takes his gloves off, washes his hands, replaces the gloves then hops on the line with Peter. He lets the kid take point, telling Bucky what to do. Bucky could see his hands shaking, the tremor in his voice whenever he told him what to do.

“One thing at a time,” he advises. “Take a deep breath and relax. Remember what I said?”

“Take my time and do it right?”

“Yup.”

The rest of his shift is uneventful. He manages to make plenty of prep that even his replacement wouldn’t have to do much and Peter started to gain confidence in his ability, even getting a compliment from one of the customers on their way out. The kid left with a smile on his face at noon, at which point Bucky took over the cooking line until the end of his shift. 

He heads to the bathroom after clocking out, splashing the last four hours worth of grime and oils from his face. Even during his break he’d been working, only taking a few minutes to down a black coffee in the employee area before returning to do the prep.  If anyone ratted him out, he would be out of a job, but they all liked him, he was hardworking, especially these last few weeks, so no one said anything to the managers. Bucky just hoped he wouldn’t accidentally get into someone’s bad side and get himself fired. 

He lets his hair hang loose around his face, making sure his backpack zippers are closed and exits the bathroom. He doesn’t expect to see someone familiar when he makes his way to the employee exit. Clint is leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle hooked behind the other.

“What happened to your nose?” Bucky asks as he gets closer.

“Nothing, what happened to  _ your _ nose,” Clint replies in the usual Clint way, scratching at the band-aid across his nose. He winces slightly, looks at his fingers and shrugs. Probably checking to see if there was blood on them.  

Bucky rolls his eyes, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

“Katie-Kate said you worked almost seventy hours last week.”

“Kate shouldn’t be tellin’ you anything.”

“You mad bro?”

“Really? Clint, seriously?” Clint just shrugs and raises one eyebrow, waiting for an answer. Bucky sighs and says, “Can we talk on the way home? I’ve been here since five.”

“Can we get pizza?”

“Sure, Clint, we can get pizza.”

Clint pushes himself off the door and opens it in one movement. Bucky follows him out, taking his phone out of his pocket and checking to see if he’s got any messages. He doesn’t. Steve was the only person he ever texted on a regular basis and now that’s done. He sighs and follows Clint down the street, putting his phone back in his pockets. 

“What do you want?” he asks a block later.

“Just worried about you. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Clint gives him a look, turning around and walking backwards like it’s the easiest thing to do in the world. He gestures with his hands at Bucky. “You look like you’re a zombie brought back to life by vampires that sucked the life out of you.”

“What?”

“You don’t look fine,” Clint repeats. “Ever since Steve - “

“I’m fine, Clint,” he tries to protest but Clint ignores him.

“ - you’ve been working like crazy. You don’t go out with us anymore, don’t even take my calls when I drunk dial you. It hurts, bro, you not answering my drunk calls. Hurts.”

“Sorry, is that what you want me to say?”

“Nah, bro. I wanna know what’s going on,” Clint stops walking, left hand reaching out to stop Bucky from walking away. “I wanna hear your side of things.”

“Oh, jeez. He told you?”

“He said you guys had a fight. That you’re taking sometime off but, like, why?”

“If he didn’t tell you, I’m not going to,” Bucky says pulling his arm away and brushing past Clint. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“How long have we known each other, bro?” Clint turns and walks up beside him, matching his stride. “You know you can trust me with whatever this is. I never told anyone about your crush on him and I’m - Wait a minute! What was that look?”

“What look? There was _no_ look.”

“How’d he find out? Bro, I swear I didn’t say shit. Even drunk I wouldn’t say anything. I promise.”

“It - it wasn’t you,” Bucky admits. “I - he called me to ask about something and it just came out. Totally out of the nowhere. I shoulda kept my mouth shut.”

“So what? You’ve been working overtime tryna avoid him?”

“I’m not avoiding him, Clint. I’m just working.”

“Seventy hours a week? Three times your normal hours? Is that even legal?”

“I need the money,” Bucky lies.

“If you needed money, all you had to do was ask,” Clint says. “You know I’ve got money I got from my brother.”

“It’s fine, Clint.” He stops walking when they reach a pizza place. They’re taking his old route, the one that would lead them by Steve’s house. “Let’s get some pizza, okay? I’ve got beer at home.”

* * *

By the time they get to Bucky’s apartment, thankfully without running into Steve, Clint’s already ate two slices of pizza. They settle on the couch, the box on the table in front of them, each with a beer in one hand. Clint hasn't said anything but Bucky can see him fiddling with his hearing aid something he only does when he’s trying to figure out a way to say something without hurting someone’s feelings.

“Just say it,” Bucky says leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, beer bottle hanging between his thighs. 

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Whatever it is, just say it.”

“Fine. Sharon broke up with Steve a few weeks ago. I was just wondering if that had anything to do with anything.”

“I didn’t know that,” Bucky whispers, thumbing the rim of the beer bottle with his thumb. “Do you, um, do you know why?”

“Yeah. She, um, she said he was distant, cold. They’re taking a break from each other while she goes off to DC to visit her aunt. But the way she said it made it sound like, you know, like they’d broken up.”

“Steve fucked up,” Bucky says, leaning back on the couch with a sigh. “Sharon’s good for him. She doesn’t take his shit and she’s - she’s like his better half or something.”

They lapse into a silence, taking a sip of their beer. Bucky tries not to think about Steve alone in his apartment wallowing after having lost two people in his life within a week of each other. Bucky had walked out of his life and now it sounds like Sharon had too. Bucky had only lost one person and he felt like shit. He can’t imagine what Steve must be feeling.

It wasn’t enough to make him go down the block and knock on the man’s door but it was enough to make him want to pick up the phone and call him. Maybe, If he was brave enough, after a few more beers and one of Clint’s special guilt trips, he can gather the courage to pick of the phone and call Steve, even if it’s just to hear his voice. Anything to make the hole in his chest go away.

“What, um, what has Steve been up to since then?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Not really.”

Clint nods. “Wanna get drunk?”

"Oh, god, yes," Bucky says downing the rest of his beer and reaching for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tune for more! Leave me a comment?


	3. Steve - One Month Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bucky is getting drunk with Clint, Steve is being ambushed by Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially turning this into a full length fic. Wish me luck.

When Steve was eighteen years old, he got a bad case of the flu. It was right after his birthday but right before his growth spurt which only made things worse in some ways. Summer was never a good time for the Rogers’ household what with all of Steve’s allergies and ailments but this summer was worse. 

This time, for the first time, Steve was utterly alone. He didn’t have his mom, she was still in the hospital recovering from a hit of tuberculosis. And he didn’t have Bucky either. 

Steve hadn't been sure what happened but a week after his birthday, Bucky was packed and ready to go spend the rest of the summer with Natasha in Russia. Steve got sick a few days later, spending most of his summer at home. It was the crappiest month and a half Steve ever spent alone. Clint tried his best to fill in the gap that Bucky left in Steve’s life but even his best jokes couldn’t crack the wall of sadness he had going. 

By the time summer was over, Steve was just getting over the damned flu, antibiotics taking a toll on his already weak body, and Bucky was back shinning his brilliant smile that could make Steve feel like the most important person in the room. The slap he got upside the head, followed by the bone crushing hug, only made Steve happier to see his best friend.

But now he knew the truth, didn't he? Now he knew that he'd fucked up and it made Bucky run away, to get away from  _him._

Steve only wished Bucky was away on a trip right now, maybe then the sadness he felt would dissipate when Bucky came back. 

Except Bucky wasn't coming back. He wasn’t going to smile a toothy smile or pull him into a tight hug or whisper into his hair that he missed Steve. Not after what Steve said.

So Steve pretends to be fine. He goes about his daily routine - jogging twice a day, going to work, one hour at the gym, cooking dinner before heading off to bed to draw until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. Sometimes he keeps drawing until 2am but that wasn’t anyone’s business, especially the subject. No one needed to know about the blue grey eyes and pouty mouth he seemed to keep drawing no matter what his intentions were at the beginning.

He is running on three hours of sleep after a particularly hard day at work when he thinks he sees Bucky walking back to his place. Steve crosses the street, pulling his hoodie over his head, and slows his pace. He’s with Clint who is holding a pizza while simultaneously eating a slice. Steve crosses the street back, walking behind them for a while, eavesdropping.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Clint says. “You shouldn’t be working this much. You gonna make yourself into an old man.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Bucky replies, giving Clint a playful push with his shoulder. “I just don’t wanna be alone right now.”

“You’re alone after work, ain’t you?”

“I’m too tired to do anything after work.” Steve frowns. Bucky sounded tired, his voice rough as if he hadn’t had much sleep. Bucky shrugs, pulling his sweater closer to his body. “Plus, I gotta get up by 4am if I wanna get to work on time.”

“So what? You work, come home, eat and sleep? Like, what are you? An adult or something?”

“Yeah, Clint. I’m an adult.” Steve can practically hear Bucky roll his eyes. “It’s what adults do. Work, eat, sleep and then start all over again the next day until the day you die.”

“Sounds boring,” Clint says pulling open the box and taking out another slice. He bites into it, and with a mouthful adds, “and morbid.”

Steve stops walking once they pass his apartment, lingering around the entrance until they reach the corner and turn, heading to Bucky’s place. He watches them, Bucky’s back bringing back the memory of seeing him off to Russia just one hour after being told he was leaving with Natasha. Steve bites his lower lip and turns, going up the stairs and entering his building.

Clint is worried about Bucky, that much was clear. But Bucky was brushing him off just like he always did. He didn’t like people fussing over him, he hated being mother henned even though Bucky was the ultimate mother hen. Only Sam could compete with Bucky.

Steve enters his apartment, sitting his bag on the table by the door, closing the door behind him. He takes off his shoes and sighs, running a hand through his short hair.

He walks the entryway into the living room where Sam is, two beers sitting on the table in front of him. Sam leans his head back on the couch, closing the book on his lap and smiles. 

“Hey, man,” Sam greets him.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” Steve asks taking a deep breath. He’s managed to avoid Sam for the better part of a week after telling him what happened between him and Bucky. And now here he was, drinking Steve’s beer and reading a book on his couch. Giving him a key was a fucking mistake, he thinks. 

“You said I could come by whenever when you gave me a key,” Sam replies standing up and facing Steve. “I was bored at home so… here I am.”

“And that’s the only reason? You were bored?”

“I mean, you  _ were _ ignoring my phone calls and texts so I  _ might _ have also been worried but yeah, I was bored.” Sam points to the beers. “Let’s chill and drink some beer, Steve.”

“I have to go do my -”

“One beer is not gonna ruin that perfect body of yours,” Sam comments. “Take the night off.”

Steve rubs his chin and throws his other hand in the air. “Alright. Fine.”

* * *

“So… have you talked to Bucky?”

Steve took a sip of his beer before answering, “nope.”

He wasn’t technically lying, he  _ hadn’t _ talk to Bucky, just walked behind him listening in a private conversation like a creep. If Bucky ever found out...

“Have ya called -”

“He’s not taking my calls,” Steve interrupted, not mentioning that he hung up the moment the phone started to ring, too scared that Bucky would answer. Scared to hear the tremble in his voice when he tells Bucky how bleak his life has been without him. He's scared of the things he might say to get his best friend back. “Anyway, he walked out, not me.”

“The dude told you he loved you since high school and you questioned his sexuality,” Sam says getting another slice of pizza.

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean it like that, okay.”

“I know that,” Sam said. “But it still sounds bad.”

“I know.”

“You should go talk to him. Apologize and sit down with him and talk it out.”

“He’s the one that -”

“The guy waited almost two decades to tell you how he felt about you,” Sam says looking at Steve straight in the eye. “And when he finally told you, it was because you wanted his opinion on proposing to your girlfriend. He obviously has trouble making the first move, so maybe it’s time you told him how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, looking down at his beer can. “But I don’t know how I feel. I thought I loved Sharon but she left me too.”

“She’s got a point though. You’ve been pretty distracted these last few weeks. Only reason I’m here is cuz I got a key to your place and you’d feel bad if you had to remove me by force.”

“I don’t know what I would say,” he admits with a shrug. “I don’t know how I feel about him.”

“You love him,” Sam says.

“Not in the way he wants me to.”

“I don’t know, man. If my brother walked out on me, I wouldn’t spend an entire month in zombie mode. Maybe think a little harder. How do you  _ feel _ about him?”

“I - I never thought about him like that before, Sam. He’s always been just Bucky.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says. “I’ve known you since college.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Means I am one of two people, maybe three, who can read you like a book, Steve. And that face, yeah that one, the pitiful one you got going on right now, is not a ‘he’s like a brother to me’ face.”

Steve looks over at him, biting the inside of his cheek. “What kind of face is it then?”

“It’s the sad steve rogers face, the same one you wore when Bucky went off to Russia for a semester sophomore year,” Sam tells him. “A sad, lonely and about ready to shut down Steve Rogers. You know what I would normally do when that face makes an appearance?” Steve shakes his head and looks back down at the bottle in his hands. “I would call Bucky and he would know what to do to make you feel better.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, well, he’s not coming this time. I guess you’re stuck with my ugly sad mug.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm?”

“Who says Bucky isn’t coming? Who says that he’s given up on you?”

“He hasn’t - I told you already, Sam. I haven’t even seen him since that day,” Steve says with a sigh. “No text or calls, nothing. I’ve ran passed his apartment building a dozen times and his light isn’t even on in the morning or even at night. For all I know, he could’ve moved or something.”

“Like I said,” Sam says with a shake of his head. “He’s got trouble making the first move so, how about you do it for a change?”

“I- I can’t.”

“I bet you my entire Star Wars collection that he’s sitting in front of his couch right now nursing a beer thinking about you.” Sam shakes his head. “Actually, I know that for a fact.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah," Sam says cryptically. "You’ve been beating yourself over the head with this for a month so now imagine how he feels. He’s the one that - “

“I know!” Steve snaps. “That’s why - that’s why I fucking can’t. You shoulda seen the look on his face, Sam. He was - fuck, he was so… I  _ hurt _ him. I  _ hurt _ Bucky. I’ve never seen that look on his face before.”

“Yeah, you did hurt him.”

“He shoulda… why didn’t he tell me earlier? He should’ve told me earlier! Sixteen fucking years. I’ve known him for longer and he - he shoulda fucking told me earlier!”

“Steve -”

“He fucking -”

“- how do you feel about him?” Sam interrupts. Steve gapes at him, working his jaw but not saying anything. Sam repeats his question. "How does Steve Rogers feel about James Barnes?"

“I … don’t know” Steve whispers. “I think I might… fuck.”

“Yeah, that's one way to put it.”


	4. Bucky's Not So Good Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes to work while hungover, meets an eccentric billionaire, and a deals with a cocky customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony decided to show up and no matter how much I tried, he just decided to throw his money everywhere and then make an exit.

Two packs of beer later, Bucky isn’t even mad that Clint ate all the pizza while he went to the bathroom. Bucky isn’t even mad that Clint decided to invite Natasha over. He isn’t even mad that she brought some chinese from that bad chinese place. He is mad that Nat decided that she needed to bring her fucking Russian vodka to “make you grow some hair on that hairless chest of yours, James.”

Russian vodka is what got him into this shit in the first place, goddamit!

But that went on deaf ears, especially Clint’s who had taken off his hearing aids when Natasha arrived, vodka in hand, and was now eating Lo Mein right out of the carton. For someone who had eaten a whole pizza and at least drank six beers, Clint was using the chopsticks like someone who was starving and sober. Bucky, however, lying on the floor looking up at Clint, felt a headache coming. He closes his eyes, breathing in slowly ignoring Natasha who was carefully pouring some of her nasty, secret spilling vodka into three shot glasses, putting one in front of Clint and another on the edge of the table near Bucky.

“Oh, no, no, no. I am not doing fucking shots,” Bucky protests surprisingly not slurring his words. Natasha shoots him a stern look but Bucky shakes his head. “Not gonna do it, Nat. No matter how many deadly glares you wanna send my way.”

“How’s that fairy tale life of yours working out, princess?” Nat says scooting the shot closer to Bucky. “I don’t see your prince anywhere.”

Bucky sits up, grabbing the cup with his left hand and threw back the shot. He winces, slamming the glass down on the wooden table. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

Natasha arches an eyebrow. “You love me and you know it.”

“I love you more!” Clint yells, spitting Lo Mein from his full mouth. Natasha hits him on the arm, brushing off some chunks of food that landed on her lap. She hands him his hearing aids and a napkin. Once he’s put them into place, he looks between Bucky and Natasha and shrugs, swaying slightly in his seat. “What, um, what are we talking about?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and turns to Bucky. “You’ve got tomorrow off.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, no, I don’t.”

“You’ve got tomorrow off,” Natasha repeats. “Peter is gonna cover for you.”

“Peter is _not_ going to cover for me cuz I will be there tomorrow.”

“Peter will be there.”

“I need the money-”

“Bullshit,” Natasha interrupts. “You do know what I do for a living, right? I know for a _fact_ that you have enough money for rent and utilities for at least three months from now. So, what’s the real reason, huh?”

Bucky scoffs. “What? Didn’t Clint tell you?”

“Hm?” Clint says from the couch, his eyes drooping. “He’s lonely… S-Steve is n-not here.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Bucky grumbles.

“No problemo, buddy!” Clint yells throwing one fist in the air, noodles hanging off the chopsticks in his hand.

Natasha looks at Bucky long and hard, her green eyes raking over his face. Bucky reaches for the bottle in Natasha’s hands, avoiding her eyes, pouring himself another shot. If he wants to work his days away and fill his spare time with, what’s it to her? It’s his life, not hers. He’s trying to be an adult, trying to move on from a lifelong relationship. It’s not like its easy to forget Steve.

It’s not like he doesn’t pick up the phone and starts to text Steve something funny that happened at work and stops before sending it. It’s not like he doesn’t lay awake at night remembering the day he spilled the beans, imagining what could be different. It’s not like he feels part of himself is missing without Steve around. His life does not revolve around Steve, not anymore. It shouldn’t have to begin with and that, that is something Bucky has to work through because it fucking did. Everything he did, every move he made in his life, was in someway connected to Steve.

This apartment, was convenient to his job sure, but he only got it because Steve walked by the building and saw the For Rent sign on the window. The couch Clint sat one, Bucky only got it because Steve insisted that Bucky had to have more than a table in his brand new apartment. Steve fucking picked the color of shades on his windows because he was the artist, the one with the good eyes for that sort of thing. Half of his wardrobe were things they bought together when they finished college and were finally ready to enter the adult world.

His life had surrounded Steve’s, paralleling his choices, for the last decade and a half so, yeah, Bucky was lonely and he was doing the only thing that was going right in his life at the moment. Who could blame him?

He throws it the shot back, wincing, before looking at Natasha.

“What?” Bucky snaps. Natasha arches an eyebrow. “What, Natasha?”

“Nothing,” she replies, grabbing the bottle back. “You look sad, you know. Without Steve around, you look sad.”

“I’m fine.” Bucky looks at Clint who’s leaning forward, his chin on his chest, fast asleep. The carton of food in his hand dangerously close to spilling. Bucky takes the carton, puts it on the table, and then turns to Natasha. “I am fine, Natasha.”

“You’re really not.”

Bucky bites his lower lip, looking down at the table were Steve used to sprawl out whenever he was having a hard time coming up with a design for work. He traces the surface with his forefinger, wondering what Steve was doing right now. And if his life was as thrown askew as Bucky’s. Probably not, Steve wasn’t Bucky.

“But I will be,” Bucky whispers. He doesn’t think Natasha heard him until an arm is around his shoulders and the bottle of vodka is pushed against his chest.

“I know you will be,” Natasha says against his ear. “I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

Bucky smiles, uncapping the bottle and pouring himself another shot. He turns to Clint who is still snoring soundly on the couch. “Wanna give Clint a mustache?”

* * *

Okay, so Bucky fucked up. Really, totally, seriously screwed up.

After who knows how many shots from Natasha’s god awful, intestine melting vodka, Bucky had the the stupidest idea to date. Well, not counting the day at Steve’s apartment.

His idea: to go work at 5am the next morning.

He gets up, head pounding, with a groan. Next to him, Clint is sprawled out on the couch, one arm over his face, his mouth hanging open as he snores loudly. The ridiculous mustache that Natasha had expertly drawn on his face was slightly smudged and so were the tears Bucky had filled in on his cheek. Natasha is nowhere to be found.

Bucky fell asleep on the floor, leaving his neck sore. He rolls his shoulders, going to the bathroom to get some aspirin.

He walks by his room and sees Natasha sleeping on his bed, her red hair barely visible under the covers. He shakes his head.

 _Of course she’s the only one to make it to bed by herself,_ he thinks entering the bathroom, _she’s probably not even hungover._

After downing two aspirins, he hops into the shower and gets ready for work. By the time he’s ready, it’s 4:30am and he makes his way down the stairs, grabbing his phone charger on the way out. He walks to work at a brisk pace walking past Steve’s building and only hesitating once and makes it just a few minutes before 5am.

“Oh, hell no!” Kate yells when he steps into Shield. She rounds the counter, finger wagging at Bucky. “I know for a _fact_ that you’re not supposed to be here today.”

“Well, I’m here,” Bucky mumbles brushing past her and heading to the employee area. “Deal with it.”

* * *

He’s grumpy, annoyed and still hungover no matter how many pills he takes. Even Peter, who had come in to cover for Bucky’s shift, has become agitated by the time Kate comes back the first time, leaving a plate on the serving hatch.

“It’s too well done,” Kate says as she passes it to Bucky. “He wants it remade, medium rare no tomatoes.”

Bucky remakes it, trying to get it out as fast as possible before the customer decides to leave or complain about it, even though the burger _was_ medium rare the first time around. He goes back to work on the rest of his tickets, too busy trying to catch up while Peter slowly did the prep. The tickets get out slowly, working methodically until the tickets stop coming in. Just when he thinks there’s a break and he can go and finally get a drink of water, Kate comes back.

“He says it’s cold,” she informs him, putting the half eaten burger on the divider. “I told him it’s been half an hour so duh it’s going to be cold but he insists on getting it remade.”

“Last time I’m doing this,” Bucky tells her. “I ain’t his momma.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Kate salutes as she leaves the window.

But it isn’t the last time, Kate comes back nearly twenty minutes later with the burger. Bucky doesn’t wait for the excuse, he pulls off his apron handing it to Peter, wiping his hands on a towel as he goes and makes his way out of the kitchen plate in hand.

Kate shakes his head, trying to grab his arm as he walks by but he shrugs her off and asks, “Which table?”

She points to the booth on the far left. He sees two men, both dark haired, looking like two inflated muscle shirts with bulging biceps and all. Bucky hesitates but then he sees one of them watch Darcy as she passes by with a look he’s seen too many times directed a men Steve used to beat up. If Steve was here…

Bucky wasn’t Steve, he didn’t have the strong shoulders or the self-righteous anger to motivate him towards confrontation. He walks over to the table, putting the plate it halting the conversation between the men.

“What’s the problem this time?” Bucky asks the man who pushes the plate away from him. “I’ve remade it twice already.”

“Then… you need to remake it a third time since you can’t seem to get it right so far,” the man snarls. The man squares his shoulders, looking at his companion on the opposite side of the table who eats a fry from the plate.

“You asked for medium rare. That’s what I made you.” Bucky picks up the plate, looks at it and then throws it in front of the man on the table. “That’s what you got.”

The man turns and finally looks at Bucky. He smiles at Bucky and then, in one quick movement, pushes his chair back and stands face to face with Bucky. “You wanna say that to my face.”

“Eat your goddamn burger,” Bucky hisses staring at the man right in the eyes. “Or get the fuck out.”

The man hums, his smile getting wider. He looks to the other man still sitting down and then at Bucky. He arches an eyebrow and says, “My names Brock, yours?”

“Not interested,” Bucky says.

“Oh, really,” Brock says, elongating the vowels. He shrugs, pulling his chair back and sitting. “You will be.”

Bucky scoffs. “Doubt that.”

Brock points to the burger with his left pinky. “What time do you get off? Maybe we could get some _real_ burgers.”

“Are you asking me out while insulting me at the same time? That’s… pretty pathetic, man.”

Bucky sees Brock’s smile falter, his hands fisting. Bucky prepares himself just in case the man decides to punch or something. When he doesn’t, Bucky turns away and starts to head back to the kitchen. He stops when he sees flaming red hair sitting in a booth by the door. He shoots Kate a look, asking her if he knew about this. Kate shrugs.

“If he gives you more shit, give him the check,” he tells her walking by. “Peter okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good,” she says with a look into the kitchen. “Hey, thanks for that. He was a major douchebag.”

Bucky gives her a small smile. “No problem. Any more problems, with anyone, let me know, alright? I don’t like these asshole taking advantage of you when you can’t say no.”

“Yeah, I futzing hate waitressing sometimes.”  She shakes her head and motions towards the booth. “She came in with some dude who wiped down the table before sitting down. And then he jumped up like something bit him. Rushed off into the bathroom to sanitize his poor Armani. Clint didn’t say she was coming by and he’s not answering my texts so…”

“I’ll find out what she wants,” Bucky says. “Keep an eye on Peter, will ya?”

She salutes him and turns to Peter who rushes to the pick-up window and looks at Bucky frantically. He gives Peter a thumbs up with the best smile he can manage after five hours of work and half a cup of day old coffee left over from the last shift. He scoffs when he turns.

_Of course she would be looking all perfect and put together. Like I fucking thought, she’s probably not even hungover._

He goes to check his phone but it’s not in his back pocket, it’s back in the employee area charging. Natasha could’ve sent him a text saying she was coming and he wouldn’t know. Knowing Natasha though, she probably didn’t. She always loved to surprise him with her lovely presence.

He slides into the seat opposite of her, his pants making an uncomfortable noise as they slide against the leather. She looks up from her phone, holds up one slim finger and goes back to typing on it rapidly. Bucky sighs but waits until she puts her phone face down on the table.

“What are you doing here, Nat?”

“It’s brunch time,” she says with a shrug. “I’m not checking up on your or anything. My … boss is a little eccentric. Likes to try ‘regular people’ food once in awhile instead of the food his chef’s make.”

“So, what? You recommended this place?”

“Actually, he-”

“ - I own this place,” a man says as he approached, drying his hands in a paper towel which he then throws over his shoulder.

“- owns the place,” Natasha finishes turning to the man. She glares, narrowing her eyes in a silent threat. Bucky smiles, remembering all the stories she’s told them about the infamous Tony Stark - billionaire, philanthropist, playboy and genius. She, of course, didn’t use those words. “Are we going to eat or are you going to cry some more about your suit?”

“Armani,” he argues. “These leather _things_ will crease my suit.”

“I’m sure your suits can handle it,” Natasha says. “They’ve handled worse, after all.”

“Shh! Attorney-client privilege and all that shit,” Tony jokes. He turns to Bucky. “I know you know who I am but who are you?”

“James Barnes,” he replies getting up and extending a hand. If this guy bought the damn restaurant that would make him Bucky’s boss. Tony flinches, taking a step back. Bucky looks at his hand and then at Natasha.

“He doesn’t like people touching him or handing him things or breathing in his air or -”

“No offense and all that jazz,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hand. He looks at Bucky from head to toe and asks, “you a busboy?”

“I’m the line cook.”

Tony tilts his head to the side until Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “He makes the food.”

“Ah! I see!” Tony turns in his spot and points to the kitchen. “You work back there then?”

“Pretty much.”

“Ask him what shift he works, Tony.”

“What shift you working, Barnes?”

“Umm, well,” Bucky says throwing a look to Natasha who simply smiles. “Right now I’m working five in the morning to three in the afternoon shifts.”

“Ask him how many days a week, Tony.”

“Yes, dear,” Tony mumbles. “How many days a week?”

“I -”

“He works everyday of the week,” Natasha supplies when Bucky doesn’t reply. “He works about seven times more than you do, Tony.”

“That’s, like, everyday.” Tony waves his hands which Bucky takes as ‘move away so I can sit down and contemplate this shit’ so he steps away from the booth running his hand through his greasy hair. Tony sits down, wincing when the leather squeaks. He looks at Natasha, a silent conversation passing between them. “You working seventy hours a week?”

“Sometimes more,” Natasha adds.

“I need the money,” Bucky lies. It’s easier to say that than to admit the truth, specially to a complete stranger.

“That settles it then!” Tony exclaims rubbing his hands together. “Romanov, give the man a raise.”

“I don’t need a -”

“He’s lying about the money, Stark.”

“Oh,” Tony’s face falls. He turns to Bucky. “Well, you can’t keep working everyday. I don’t even work everyday and I run a company.”

“Pepper runs Stark Industries.”

“She also runs me,” Tony says, smirking. “But that’s not the point.”

“What is your point?” Bucky asks crossing his arms. “I would rather work than - Look, I have the availability and I’m willing to work the long shitty shifts so I don’t see the problem.”

“And if I decide to close this joint down and convert it into condos? What are you gonna do with that free time?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Tony says. “I just got the building yesterday. Romanov here is in charge with the deed and all that lawyer-y stuff. I’m just here for the pancakes.”

“Then I don’t have to think about free time since I don’t have it.”

“What if I decide to… let’s say… fire you.”

“For what?” Bucky demands, panic starting to spread.

“For not doing your job,” Tony says. “You’ve been talking to us for the last twenty minutes instead of being back there flipping burgers or whatever. I could fire you for that, right, Romanov?” Natasha blinks but nods. “See? So why don’t you give me one reason why I shouldn’t fire you right here and right now?”

“Tony…” Natasha warns.

“Dear, I know what I’m doing,” Tony says while staring at Bucky waiting for his answer.

Bucky blinks, trying to think of something that might convince the billionaire and finding none. He looks at Natasha, silently asking her for help but she looks as helpless as he feels. He’s about to turn tail, get his things and leave when someone comes to stand next to him.

Kate and Darcy stand by his side, Darcy wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist and squeezing his hip. Kate stands between Tony and Bucky, squaring her shoulders and looking down at Tony who’s mouth twists in a smile.

“If you fire him,” Kate says. “You’re gonna have to fire all of us too.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agrees. “If Bucky goes, so do we. Good luck running this joint without your best waitresses and cook.”

Tony smiles wide. He stands up making Kate take a step back or end up looking at the man’s chest instead of his eyes. She goes to stand by the other side of Bucky, still glaring at Tony. Bucky is still, his body tense.

He feels Darcy’s hand move to his back, rubbing it softly. He concentrates on the the feel of it, remembering doing the same to Steve when he use to get asthma attacks. It grounds him enough to look at Tony in the eyes.

“Well,” Tony finally says. “I’m not gonna fire you. But maybe a raise or something. Less hours, more pay. For all of you.”

“What?” Bucky squeeks. Darcy hand stops at his back, dropping to her side and even Kate seems to have gone still. Kate holds on to Bucky’s left arm, squeezing it. They look at each other and then back at Tony.

“Yeah. Romanov will figure it out with the manager. Now that this is Stark owned, your business is gonna boom! Can’t have my employees getting paid less than the cost of a burger!” He turns to Natasha. “Barton still doing random construction jobs, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha says. “Why?”

“Get him a layout of the place and have him come up with a plan for a whole new diner. Something with a bigger kitchen and no booths. Retro 50’s, less cheesy 60’s.” Tony looks around the diner, completely unaware of the three employees staring at him. “You know what? Keep the booth, just make them Armani friendly. And gender neutral bathrooms with those fancy sinks and hand dryers I saw in Germany.” He points to the ceiling. “And higher ceilings ... hooked up to some solar panels we can hook up on the roof and - Why aren’t you three taking notes? Geez, what am I paying you for?”

“I think you broke them,” Natasha says grabbing her phone and typing into it rapidly.

“What’s the matter, crew? The solar panels too much? Do you even have access to the roof? Oh! Maybe a greenhouse up there too! Grow our own food and-”

“The most expensive burger in this place,” Darcy says slowly, “is $13 with tax.”

“Huh?”

“We get paid $10.50 an hour now,” Kate adds, her eyes wide.

“Ah,” Tony says with a smile. He shakes his head and looks at Natasha. “I see. You three drive a hard bargain. How about we do… umm what’s a nice round even number?”

“What?” Bucky croaks. “What are you-”

“What’s the most expensive thing on the menu right now?” Tony interrupts, stroking his beard. “Before I get James here trained with my chef, that is.”

“What?” Bucky exclaims looking at Natasha who simply shrugs and smiles.

“A full slab of ribs is $17.99,” Darcy says.

“That’s not round or even,” Tony says to himself. “Let’s just make it an even $20. Yeah. That works. Get me a meeting with whoever and let’s make it happen, Romanov.” Tony takes a step forward, looking at Bucky right in the eye. “Less hours, more pay. You train with my chef on the weekends, make a new menu, and train the rest of the cooks. Got it?”

“Y-yeah. Got it.”

“Good,” Tony nods. He turns to Kate and Darcy. “Ladies, I’ll send over my tailor after we get things squared away with the lawyers and stuff.”

“A tailor?” Darcy and Kate asks in unison.

“Gonna need a new uniforms for everyone,” Tony says taking out a pair of shades from the inside pocket of his suit. “Only the best for my employees.”

He leaves without a word, leaving on Natasha standing with three shocked employees. Darcy and Kate look at each other and then jump up and down in excitement. The only thing saving the entire diner from hearing them squeal loudly is a cough from Natasha.

“Ladies, ladies. We still gotta get management on board and make sure we have the permits and funds and dozen other things before we start. The raises won’t be in this paycheck but the next one. I’ll be sitting down with the staff this weekend, so spread the word around.” She looks back down to her phone when it chimes. She sighs and says, “Stark wants to have a get together this weekend to get to meet everyone. We’ll be closing Sunday and there will be a party at Stark Tower. Everyone and their families are invited. Bring ideas for the restaurant and I’ll take the best ones to Tony.”

Natasha turns to leave but then turns back, one hand on the door handle. “Did I mention that you’ll get paid to attend? Tony really likes to spread his money around.”

This time Darcy and Kate do squeal, Bucky only barely managing to escape with his eardrums intact. He slips through the door and catches up to Natasha as she turns to walk to the parking lot. She stops and turns in one swift movement.

“Is he for real?” Bucky asks.

“Unfortunately,” she replies. “Now, I just gotta get to work to make it happen. Pepper is gonna be pissed but then she’ll come around when she sees how happy he is. He likes to take on pet projects between designs. This is his latest one. At least it isn’t another circus.”

“Circus?”

“He tried to buy a circus last year. He didn’t like how the animals were treated during the show. He said they looked sad. He was right but… well, he’s got a team of lawyers for a reason.” She puts one hand on Bucky’s arm, giving it a quick squeeze. “He’s a good man, he just gets carried away sometimes but he never breaks his promises. He’ll do right by all of you.”

“I don’t want to work less,” Bucky says.

“You might work less here but Stark will work you on your days off, trust me.” She pats his cheek lightly. “You’re his new sad looking elephant now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

She gets in a black car that looked like it was worth more than Bucky’s student loan debt. Tony waves from inside the car before she gets the chance to slam the door. Bucky waves back, watching the car pulls out of the parking spot and merging into traffic. He shakes his head and thinks, _my life can’t possibly get any crazier_.

* * *

Except he’s wrong. It’s four in the evening before he’s finally clocking. His replacement was late due to a family emergency and couldn’t find someone to cover for him so Bucky stayed an extra hour until they could get their things together and make it into work. Even then, Bucky stays to talk to the evening staff about Stark and his plans, telling them about the raise and the party and trying to answer any questions they have.

As it turns out, they have a lot. He tells them to hold them until the party on sunday and they look at him as if he’s playing a prank on them until Kate and Darcy confirm what he’s saying. It then takes everyone half an hour to get back to work, their excitement and disbelief buzzing around as they exit the employee area.

“When did I become the manager?” Bucky asks Kate. “Shouldn’t Sitwell be the one telling everyone the news?”

Kate scoffs. “That asshole hadn’t shown up to work since Friday. Claims he’s got the flu. Darcy thinks he’s faking it and still putting himself as clocked in.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Bucky says slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I am _so_ ready to go home. You?”

“I’ve been ready since nine,” she says.

“Your shift started at nine, Kate.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky swings an arm around Kate’s shoulders and pulls her through the exit. She smiles up at him, holding on to his hand as they walk. She bites her lower lip as they start walking. When their shifts end at the same time, Bucky usually walks her to her train station a few blocks from the diner. They make little small talk, neither of them interested in talking after spending the entire day taking and making orders to customers all day.

Today wasn’t a normal day though, so Bucky walks slowly pulling Kate closer. She reminds him of his younger sister, Rebecca, dark hair and spunky attitude and all. They would have get along great if they were ever to meet. Except Becca is back home in Indiana with his grandparents and Bucky is here in Brooklyn trying to make it on his own.

He should call her up one of these days, fill his nights catching up instead of remembering his past.

“Do you think he’s really gonna do it?” Kate asks softly. “Give us a raise and redo the diner?”

“He’s got the money for it,” Bucky says. “Natasha says he’s bored and we’re his latest project.”

“Rich people get bored pretty quickly, what if he gets bored of us?”

Bucky squeezes Kate’s shoulders, remembering what she told him about her relationship with her rich father. He pulls her to the side of the sidewalk, letting people past them without stopping the traffic, he looks at her and says, “I’ll make sure he keeps his promises and does good on them. I won’t let him go back on his promise.”

She nods once. “Okay.”

* * *

He drops Kate at the train station, watching her get swallowed up by the throngs of people coming and going, before heading home. He gives up going his alternate route and walks by Steve’s building as swiftly as possible, trying hard not to glance up and look at the third floor apartment to see if he’s home yet.

He gets home around five in the evening, throwing himself on the couch and letting out a loud sigh. His back is killing him, his arms are covered in random oil burns and his finger tips are now immune to heat. Maybe once Stark makes good on his promises, they can get a proper cut glove and a proper stove and a functioning oven and fryer and -

“Ridiculous,” he chuckles to his empty apartment. “That man is too rich for his own good.”

His phone vibrates in his back pocket. He sits up, pulling out his phone, and sees a text from Natasha.

**Stark wants Rogers to work on the “aesthetic” of the new diner. You okay with that?**

Of course Tony would only want the best for his latest project. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and signs into his palm. He’s not going to keep Steve from working with Tony - he’s not that petty. And Steve is hands down one of the best artists Bucky’s has met.

He hesitates and then sends back: _Why wouldn’t I be_?

**He’s going to be around the restaurant more. You might actually have to talk to him. *gasp***

_I will be on my best behavior._

**That’s not what I’m worried about and you know it.**

_It’s a great chance for him. He’ll be the hottest thing around with a Tony Stark commission to add to his resume._

**Only if you’re sure.**

_I’m sure, Nat. Thanks._

* * *

The next morning, he arrives to at his usual time. It’s Peter’s day off so he’s got Scott as his backup for the day. Things are always interesting with Scott around. For most of the morning and into the afternoon, the staff discusses the Stark Party, as it is now called. Some are excited. Others, like Bucky, are reserving judgement until things actually get done. And some are outright suspicious.

“I don’t know,” Scott mumbles to Bucky once Darcy is out of earshot. “It’s too convenient, you now? He just _happens_ to have bought this place over the weekend and decides to pop in and make all these promises to minimum wage workers? What if he’s just trying to boost morale or something? Get our hopes up and then crush them like an ant?”

“That’s cynical,” Bucky says passing Scott a finished order. “He seems like a stand up guy, for a rich dude.”

“But he’s _rich_ , like money up the ass. He probably owns separate asses in order to keep his money in them!”

“Scott.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Scott says raising his arms in defence. “I don’t trust the dude. He’s got hella money and he decides to buy a crappy diner and give us raises and new uniforms and all these stuff we’ve been asking for for months. It don’t make sense to me.”

Bucky shakes his head and concentrates on grilling the three orders of burgers he’s got going. It doesn’t stop Scott from yelling out random ideas about Stark’s intentions.

Bucky is cutting up lettuce when Scott hisses, “What if he’s harvesting organs and he wants to use our freezer for storage?”

Bucky dicing tomatoes when Scott comes close and whispers, “What if he’s a cannibal and he wants us to use the human meat in our burgers?”

Scott is washing his hands when he twirls around, splashing water everywhere and yells, “What if he never closes the diner for remodeling and never opens it again?”

It’s almost the end of Bucky’s shift before Scott finally gets on his nerves.

“What if,” he’s saying, waving a knife around, “he bought Shield in order to launder money from those illegal weapon sales he’s got going in the Middle East?”

“Shut. Up.”

“Barnes! What if he’s -”

“Scott! Shut it! I’m tired of hearing this shit from you! Just stop!” Bucky yells, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and mentally counts to three. He opens his eyes and sees Scott is standing still, something he never does. Bucky takes his gloves off, throwing them in the garbage bin to the right of the grill and approaches Scott. “Sorry. Look, he’s my friend’s boss, okay? I don’t trust Stark but I trust Natasha. He made a commitment, a verbal agreement, in front of his lawyer and she’s not about to let him weasel his way out of it.”

“Okay,” Scott whispers.

“I trust Nat, so trust me, alright?” Scott nods once but Bucky can still see the lingering questions in his eyes. “If he goes back on his deal, Natasha will gut him. He knows how much this job means to me, to all of us.”

“Alright, Bucko.”

Bucky runs his hand through his hair and says, “Ima take off for the day. Can you brief Pietro and Wanda when they come in for their shift?”

“No problemo,” Scott replies putting the knife down, the blade away from the edge of the table. Not quite the correct distance for safety but enough or Scott not to accidentally drop it and try to catch it with his foot… again. “I’m sorry if I-”

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t had enough coffee today,” Bucky smiles. “I’m just grumpy. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

* * *

Bucky’s getting ready to go out the employee exit when Darcy calls his name.

“Hey, Bucky! There’s some guy here looking for you,” she says. “Wants to talk to you.”

“Guy?”

“Yeah, kinda buff,” Darcy says with a shrug. “He’s waiting by the front door.”

“Thanks.”

She walks away. Bucky closes his eyes and swallows. Buff guy? Could it be - no, there’s no way Steve would come to his job. Right? But what if he… Steve knew his number, where he lived, he wouldn’t just ambush him at work, would he?

Bucky bites the inside of his lip and considers taking off through the exit, taking the long way home. He shakes his head.

_No, if Steve is here then that means he wants to talk. That means something has changed and - and he wants to talk to me after a month of nothing. That means that he’s been as pathetic and alone as I have. It means I’m not the only one suffering._

Bucky nods to himself and heads back into the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for a beta to help with my constant use of commas, if anyone is interested! <3


	5. Steve's Long Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's had a bad week. Phil has a few words to say about that.

It’s Thursday by the time Steve has time to even take a breath without having another client email him about a late commission or a manager breathing down his neck about due dates. If he's honest with himself, he was heck of a lot more frustrated now than he was, say, a month ago. But he didn't need to be honest because Sam did that for him. 

Steve knows Sam doesn’t mean to do it, he can’t help but hear about Steve’s workplace problems since he’s dating Maria, one of his co-workers. Steve is quiet on how work is going and that worries Sam a lot, he’s told Steve that a lot over the last few weeks. He’s never been so quiet about his work, always coming home excited about a new client or how well a presentation went or how his bosses liked his work. But he’s been quiet lately… so Sam is right to worry even if it’s annoying.

It also seems like no matter what topic they talk about, Sam manages to relate it back to Bucky in some way. And the fact that Sam has decided to move into Steve’s apartment - sleeping on the couch, leaving his clothes in nice neat piles on top of his bag - only adds to the daily reminders that Steve’s life isn't as put together as he might act like it is at the moment.

He knows, he's not fucking stupid, no matter how much Sam unintentionally makes him feel like he is, that his life is bleak and boring and just as morbid as Bucky described it less than a week ago.

_ I’m an adult, _ he thinks,  _ I get up, eat, work, go home, eat sleep and then one day, die.  _

Except Sam has other ideas. Like going jogging with Steve in the morning even though he can't keep up with him like Bucky could. Or dragging Steve out of his office when he was stuck on a project even if Sam wasn't able to fully pull his attention away from it.

And, yeah, Steve knows he's being a shitty friend by comparing Sam to Bucky. 

Steve is a shitty friend, ask Bucky and he'll tell you that too.

Tonight, Steve wants nothing to do but to lay in bed and contemplate life. That’s it. It’s almost Friday, he’s got the weekend to catch up on his work on his own time, and he feels like the world is slowly caving in. He’s stressed, no matter how much he jogs he can’t seem to get rid of the tightness of his body. He’s running on little sleep from both the stress and staying up late on numerous cups of coffee trying to get the designs just right or trying to get a presentation together for a project already due. 

He feels like a college kid all over again. Except he doesn’t have Bucky rooting him on this time around. He doesn’t have Bucky to come home to after class. He doesn’t have a best friend who stays up with him all night studying and then gets up early to make him breakfast on the day of final exams. Steve had that a month ago, and more, before he blew it. 

He took Bucky for granted and now he’s doing the same thing to Sam.

But Sam’s trying. He’s trying very hard to fill the gap that’s suddenly opened up in Steve’s life. It’s just Steve who’s stuck in his way, stubborn like a mule, unwilling to change because he still hopes that Bucky will come back. One day he’ll come home from work and right next to Sam will be Bucky, joking around and eating Steve’s food like nothing happened. And they’ll forget about the last month, going back to how they used to be.

At least that what Steve dreams when he finally gets to sleep at night. He’s a shitty friend, did he say that already?

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to put on his jogging clothes on before Sam is pulling the clothes out of his hands, throwing them on his bed, and starts to pull him to the door.

“Put your shoes on,” Sam tells him. “We’re going out for pizza.”

Steve puts on his shoes, lying on the hallway floor to the door, and mumbles, “they have this thing called delivery, you know?” The smack upside his head feels achingly familiar, burning a hole in his chest that quickly turns cold. He blinks at Sam and asks, “What was that for?”

“For being a smartass. Now let’s go and no, you don’t get to pick where cuz I’m paying.”

* * *

They walk a few blocks down to the pizza place near Bucky’s job. When Steve realises this, after shoving his hands and blindly following Sam out of his apartment building and into the cool Brooklyn breeze, he stops in his tracks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam says walking a little bit in front of Steve. “I like the pizza. Now c’mon!”

Sam does not, in fact, like the pizza from this place. They had shitty pizza and the only reason that they frequented this place was because they got a discount from the owner, Phil, who was related to Clint in some way that neither men were willing to disclose. Only Clint and Bucky really liked the pizza from Avengers Pizzeria but those two could survive on Twizzlers and coffee for months before becoming sick. In fact, during college, they did just that. 

He sees Sam hesitate when he gets to the building, looking into the pizzeria. He turns back, walking to Steve and brushing past him back home.

“Never mind,” he mumbles. “Let’s get delivery. Still my treat.”

“What’s wrong with Avengers?” Steve quickly follows behind. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s crowded, that’s it.”

“Avengers is never crowded,” Steve argues, pulling Sam to a stop. “We’re already here. What’s going on, Sam?”

Sam sighs, glancing back at the building. “You wanna know the truth?” Steve nods. “Bucky’s in there, okay? I don’t want it to be awkward, alright. So, let’s just go back to your place and -”

“I - I can be in the same room as him without breaking down,” Steve says turning back towards Avengers. “I won’t make a scene, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not,” Sam says grabbing Steve’s arm, stopping him from walking. “Look, Bucky is… He’s not alone. He’s with some dude.”

Steve feels all the air being sucked out of his body. He clenches his jaw and looks to the ground. Bucky was … he was with someone? He was in a pizza place with someone? Was he on a date? Did he move on from Steve that quickly?

“Are you - are you sure it’s him?”

“Yeah. He’s still wearing his work clothes.” Sam points over his shoulder. “Let’s go back to your place, alright? My treat.”

* * *

They go back to Steve’s apartment in silence. Sam glances over at him once in awhile but Steve’s eyes are on the floor.

_ He sure moved on fast, _ he thinks chewing on the inside of his cheek,  _ it’s only been a month since … since we stopped being friends. _

He’s not jealous, there’s nothing to be jealous of. The feeling in his chest was only the delayed heartburn of the tacos he had for lunch from the crappy food truck that hangs out in front of his office building. It’s not jealousy, especially not jealousy over Bucky finding some to fill the gap Steve left in his life. A gap that Steve hasn’t been able to fill, one that he didn’t want to fill. No, the one he didn’t  _ know  _ he needed to fill. 

Sam lingers around the doorway once they walk up to the third floor flat, looking more uncomfortable than Steve has ever seen him. Steve unlocks the door and walks inside, going towards the kitchen.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you there,” Sam says closing the front door and following Steve. “I didn’t know he was going to be there, I swear.”

“He’s been working overtime, did you know that? He looked tired last time I saw him. Or he sounded tired at least.”

Sam blinks, his brows furrowed. “When did you see him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s not important.”

“It’s pretty important,” Sam protests. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have kept this from me.”

“How does he – to you does he –“

“I’m gonna stop you right there because we are not having this conversation, alright? You wanna know how he is, you go talk to him.”

“I can’t, Sam, you know that.”

“No, what I know is that you say you fucked up and you feel like shit without him and you’re too stubborn to apologize. He’s not gonna come to you first, I told you that.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just go up to him while he’s – while he’s on a fucking  _ date _ ! He’s moving on from me –“

“Hold up! Hold up one-second cuz that right there that makes it sound like you two broke up when, in reality, you weren’t even dating.”

“You know what I meant –“

“No, Steve, I don’t. Please tell me!” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell me about Bucky’s blue eyes and how sharp his jawline is or how he used to leave neon green hair ties in your bathroom or how he used your toothbrush once and felt so bad he got you an electric one. Or how –“

“I get it, okay! I –“

“I don’t think you do. You’re pining after him; you are literally  _ pining _ after the guy who pined after  _ you _ for a decade! It’s like a the premise to a romantic comedy or something.”

“I’m not pining,” Steve protests, going to the fridge and looking into it without really looking at the contents. “I just miss my friend, that’s all.”

“What about Sharon?”

“Hm? What about her?” Steve blinks at the subject change. 

“Have you thought about her at all in the last two weeks since she’s been in DC? Have you thought about what she said?”

“We’re taking a break. That’s it.”

“She asked you to think about your future together just two weeks after you were all but ready to get down on your knees and ask her to marry you,” Sam points out. “You hesitated, Steve, you never hesitate.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you haven’t even thought about Sharon since she left but here you are, practically ready to jump out of your skin just to take one look at Bucky.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’m just trying to understand you,” Sam says with a sigh. “This whole thing with Bucky has got your priorities thrown about.”

Steve swallows. “So, you have talked to him?”

“Natasha is worried about him, Clint is staying over his place to keep an eye on him.”

“Like you are,” Steve points out. He rubs his forehead and shuts the fridge without getting anything. He leans against it, feeling the coolness of the door at his back. “Just … how does he look to you?”

“He looks… sad,” Sam finally says, leaning on the countertop that divides the kitchen from the dining area. “He looks tired and sad and that dude he was with is not his type.”

“How do you know?”

Sam snorts. “Because you’re his type, dumbass. Or didn’t you noticed all the people he dated in college? Blue eyes, blond hair, creative types. It’s you in a skirt and heels.”

“Did you know he wasn’t straight?”

“I – I might have guessed it, yeah,” Sam admits. “The way he looked at you in college when you weren’t looking were pretty telling. I don’t know how you coulda missed it.”

“Yeah, me either.” Steve points to the stack of takeout menus on the table. “You still payin’ right?”

“Yeah, pal, sure,” Sam says, grabbing the stack and handing it to Steve. “Your turn to pick, I guess. I’ll pay, even though you make more money than me and you eat more than me. But sure I’ll pay.”

* * *

Friday doesn’t fare any better for Steve. If anything, it goes worse than Thursday. He’s, once again, running on three hours of sleep, his sketches and computer designs becoming more erratic in both subject and presentation. Now his bosses do mind that he’s working through his lunch to keep up with his assignments, trying to fix mistakes he made in the middle of the night because he was too tired to fix and then forgot about it until he was supposed to email for final approval.

Jane, his immediate superior and someone who Steve respected greatly, pulled him into her office on Friday afternoon and asked him if everything was okay. He’d shrugged off her question and told her he was fine, nothing to worry about. But then she pulled up a draft he’d sent her not even twenty minutes ago and asked her question again.

It was sloppy, the presentation was mediocre at best, with his drafts overlapping on the computer screen from having put it together just under the deadline instead of taking his time to work out all the kinks. It looked like a last minute assignment from a first year student rather than a draft by a professional. Steve wasn’t a good liar on a good day, let alone on a day where he had too many cups of coffee and not enough sleep or food.

“No excuses,” he told her. “I fucked up and I understand if you want to give the project over to someone else.”

That’s exactly what she did. She also assigned some of his more worthwhile projects to other designers and, if the email she sent him was any indication, she was disappointed in him. She didn’t explicitly say he was treading a fine line but he could read between the lines. He wasn’t up to par with his usual work, hell, he wasn’t even acting like his usual self and that impacted interactions with clients just as much as crappy draft presentations did.

He’s just… unfocused. And the constant reminder wasn’t helping. 

* * *

By the end of the work day, all he wants to do curl up and bed and sleep for a month straight. Fuck his job. Fuck everything outside the confines of his bed.

He makes it out of the office building in record time, not lingering after clocking out, ignoring the attempts by his co workers to ask him out for drinks. He brushes past them, headphones in his ear, and goes out the door. He makes his way home, only stopping when he passes Avengers Pizzeria. 

He gazes into the tiny restaurant with its outdated decor and mismatched wallpaper. He regrets not coming inside last night. Even if Bucky had just glared at him the whole time, it would have been worth it to see his face again. But Sam was right. He couldn't even handle thinking about Bucky without his heart racing, so how was he supposed to handle a confrontation or worse.

“Hiya, Steve,” a voice says snapping him out of his thoughts. He turns and sees Phil leaning against the doorframe. “Haven't seen you in a while. How are you?”

“Hey, Phil. Yeah, I'm good. Thanks. How are you? How's business?”

Phil shrugs. “It could be better. I've almost saved up enough for that makeover I told you about.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. Very excited about it,” Phil tells him, his face serious. 

If it was anyone else, Steve might have thought Phil was joking given that his face shows no emotion. Phil has this calmness about him, he radiates seriousness. In the years Steve’s known him, he's only witnesses two smiles and one huff that might have been a laugh coming from the man. Steve was sure that in another life, Phil would have made a great spy.

“Well, that's good. Let me know if you need any help.”

“Actually, I could use someone with a good eye for the, um, how did James put it?” He looks down at the ground, his hand gesturing in the air. He snaps his fingers and says, “Ah, yes, ‘Hipster aesthetic shit’ to attract the newer kids on the block.”

Steve snorts. “That sounds like Bucky. Even though he could probably do a better job at it than I. He's the hipster, after all.”

“He said you might say that,” Phil says, shaking his head. “He was in here last night, I thought he might be meeting you but… Clint told me you two had a falling out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Well, I’m sure everything will be okay.” Phil nods once, catching Steve’s eye. “You know what kind of pizza he got last night?” Steve shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “I thought you were coming. No one but you gets a meat lovers and olive pizza. I didn’t know he lived olives.”

“He doesn’t,” Steve says softly. “He’s a picky eater.”

“I noticed. He barely touched it. The guy he was with ate enough for them both.” Phil crosses his arms and looks at Steve for a long moment. Steve looks away, shuffling his feet under the intense gaze. “I probably shouldn’t be saying anything but… I may have listened in and heard Bucky say your name a few times before stopping himself. He almost choked on water when the guy, Brock, asked him who you were. It was quite funny. Melinda had to take over for me for a while.”

“He - he was talking about me?”

Phil shrugs. “He always talks about you. You know, he looks like a proud parent every time he talks about you. He’s very proud of what you do, always brushes off compliments towards but makes you sound like a greek god or something. It’s why this, whatever you two have going on, is not gonna last long. Your friendship will outlast us all.”

Steve clenches his jaw and looks away. “It doesn't feel like it right now.”

“Trust me.” He points with his thumb over his shoulder and asks, “how about you come by later for a slice, maybe around seven?”

“Is something happening at seven?”

Phil pushes himself off the doorframe and shrugs. “I’ll bring you a slice of pizza. That building across the street has a nice view.” Steve nods slowly. “Good. He should be here around seven, I’ll make sure he doesn’t see you.”

Steve gulps, understanding who Phil means. “I - thanks, Phil. I - I really appreciate it.”

“I’m rooting for you two crazy kids. Besides, I can’t have my graphic designer and my painter fighting. Clint isn’t allowed near the pain anymore… that kid likes purple  _ way _ too much.”

* * *

Steve doesn’t mean to linger, he can’t help to jog in place, stuck across the street from Avengers watching Bucky and that guy, Phil had called him Brock, he was having pizza with for the second night in a row.

When he got home, after saying goodbye to Phil, all he had to do was put on his running shoes, leave his spare key out on the doorframe, and wait. He takes a jog around the neighborhood around six thirty and stops in front of Avengers Pizzeria around seven. If anyone asked, it was time to stretch his tired muscles and he just happened to stop in across the pizzeria.

He sees Phil go up to Bucky and his date, saying something as he leaves two cups of water on the table. Phil’s eyes look at at Steve for a brief second before turning to take their orders. It’s a few minutes before Steve sees Phil make his way out of Avengers and across the street to him, a bottle of water in his hands.

“Hey,” Phil greets. “Thought maybe water would be better given… you’re very sweaty, you know that?”

“Sorry,” Steve says taking the offered bottle. He wants to thank Phil and walk away, pretend he isn’t here to spy on Bucky. But Phil tilts his head and gives him a tentative smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing, if I’m honest. I shouldn’t be watching him, I should let him go on with his life.”

“That will take more time than it would take you to apologize and talk it out,” Phil responds. He nods and then, without another word, walks away. 

Steve looks back towards Avengers, watching as Phil enters his restaurant goes into the kitchen, walking past Bucky.

He looks uncomfortable, wringing his hands together in his lap under the table, while his date continues to talk. Bucky cracks a smile but it’s not one Steve has seen in awhile. It’s a ‘I’m paying attention enough to not seem rude but I don’t care’ smile that he usually directed at teachers whenever Steve got him in trouble. A smile that meant he was holding back from saying what he really wanted to say because it would be rude to say it. Steve hated that smile with a passion. 

He half contemplates crossing the street and saving Bucky from his… whatever. Already Steve’s running a risk by lingering, the risk of been seen was great. All Bucky had to do was turn his head to the left and he would see Steve jogging in place, watching him. Steve should move away, that would be the smart idea, he should finish his run and go home to shower before launching himself into his work. 

But Steve’s never been smart when it came to Bucky.

He drinks half of the water bottle, he lets out a breath as the water washes down his throat. He sits down on one of the steps of the apartment building across the street from Avengers, watching Bucky between the space of two cars parked on the street. Phil was right, there was a great view into the restaurant from here.

He doesn’t watch with rap attention to the man’s continuous attempts to reach for Bucky’s hands when they make it on top of the table.  

He doesn’t smile when Bucky pulls his hands away, shining a brilliant smile probably mumbling an excuse before turning the conversation back to the man. 

He doesn’t watch Bucky arms tense when the man starts to pick at Bucky’s food from across the table. 

He doesn’t trace Bucky’s jaw as it clenches when the man pulls him plate completely to his side of the table and really starts to eat the pizza. 

He doesn’t watch when Bucky runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it out and the man decides he really needs to touch a strand at the very moment, leaving Bucky to either drop his arms and let his hair cascade down his face or push the man’s hands away and tie it back like he intended to. Steve does not smile when Bucky does the latter.

He does get up in a hurry when the man pushes his chair back and gets up, grabbing the plates of pizza to clear away. He does wince when Bucky stands up and the man reaches for his hand before Bucky’s able to step back. 

Steve doesn’t stop breathing when their hands entwine between them. Steve doesn’t feel like his heart has been frozen in an instant when the man touches Bucky cheek with his other hand, pulling him closer until their lips touch. Because Steve doesn’t have a right to feel anything, not jealousy and definitely not like his heart has been pulled out of his body and stomped on. He’s got no right after what he did.

But then why does he? Why does he feel red, hot jealousy running through his veins? Why does he want to cross the street and yank the man off Bucky? Why does he want to save Bucky from the hug that follows the kiss and the possessive way the man holds on to Bucky as they leave? Why does he want to slap the man’s arm from around Bucky’s shoulder, punch the man in his tanned face and take Bucky home where he’s safe and sound?

Steve’s got no right. None at all. 

And he shouldn’t feel a little better when they break apart outside of Avengers, Bucky heading home and the man in the opposite direction. He shouldn’t feel better when Bucky walks away without a look back, Steve following from across the street. He shouldn’t smile when Bucky passes by Steve’s building and stops, looking up for a long moment, even going as far as turning towards the door, hands raking through his hair, now loose around his face, the hair tie around his wrist. Steve shouldn’t cross the street and run up to him, Phil’s words of advice running through his head.

But again, Steve hasn’t always done what’s good for him.

“Hey,” he whispers as he reaches Bucky. He spins around, his eyes wide, not expecting Steve to suddenly appear. Steve gives him a small smile. “Hi.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, his eyes looking over Steve taking in his jogging clothes, and sweaty forehead, headphones dangling around his neck. He runs a hand through his hair and coughs. “Hey, Steve. I was just - I was just walking by on my way home.”

He turns to leave so Steve says the first thing that comes to mind. “I miss you!”

“I -” Bucky swallows, blinking rapidly. “Steve I - I can’t-”

“You don’t have to say anything, okay? I just wanted you to know that. I miss you, a lot. And that I was an ass when we last talked. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. I shouldn’t have,” he stops and takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out. I fucked up, I knew it the moment you stepped through that door. But I didn’t go after you, I should’ve. I should’ve gone after you and -”

“- I can’t do this right now, Steve,” Bucky whispers, his jaw clenching, eyes on the ground. 

Steve wants to reach out and trace the line of his jaw, to feel the stubble growing there, to feel the muscle tense and smooth it out and pull him in like the man did. But he doesn’t. Steve fists his hands to stop them from shaking at his side.

“Can we talk? Tomorrow? I can make us something, maybe?” Steve takes a step towards Bucky and considers it a small win when he doesn’t step away. He licks his lips and adds, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Bucky.”

“Me either,” Bucky admits with a sad smile but then he shakes his head. “I have a work thing this weekend. I can’t.”

“How about dinner?”

“I-”

“How about right now? It’s only seven, we could have an early dinner. You’re already here, we can order from that horrible Chinese place you like.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky protests weakly.

“It’s pretty bad. Everything is drenched in oil,” Steve counters.

“That’s cuz you always order the shitty shit from the menu.” He shakes his head and looks towards the street leading to his place. Steve doesn’t move a muscle, waiting for a response. Finally, Bucky shakes his head and turns back to Steve. “I can’t. You get why I can’t, right?”

This time it’s Steve who clenches his jaw and looks away, trying to swallow the ball that has suddenly appeared in his throat and was intent on choking him to death for being so naive. Bucky was moving on with his life, he had two dates in two days. He was trying to forget Steve and here he was trying to get Bucky to go up to his place to what? To talk?

No, Steve wanted more than to talk. He wanted to get their friendship back on track. He wanted to stop feeling so damned alone. He wanted his best friend back, to know that Bucky was one text away from him instead of a chance meeting that wasn’t at all up to luck because Steve was following Bucky, stalking him like some weirdo.

“I - yeah, I get it,” Steve finally says with a small smile. 

He looks at Bucky and oh god what was that look? He looked on the verge of tears, his blue-grey eyes misty and wide, he was biting his lower lip, looking every bit the way Steve’s remembered Bucky when they were younger. 

Back when Steve was sick and Bucky worried so much that he practically lived in the Rogers’ home half of the year. Back when Steve was thirteen and he didn’t quite make it to the next rung of the junglejim, crashing down to the ground and landing on his leg wrong. The way his brow was furrowed between his eyes like when they were waiting for the ambulance after Steve ate shrimp for the first time and found out he was allergic to them.

“Bucky I -”

“I, um, I should head home,” Bucky interrupts. “I have to be at Stark Industries early in the morning and Nat will kill me if I’m late.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Steve steps forward into Bucky’s space, reaching for Bucky and wrapping his hand around his forearm. He rubs Bucky’s soft skin with the pad of his thumb and asks, “will you at least think about dinner?”

Bucky nods slowly, a smile pulls at his lips. “Since when do you have to much power over me?”

“I think you got that backwards, Buck.”

“No, I don’t think so. But I really should go. From what Nat’s told me, Stark likes his parties to go on all weekend, all day and all night and I would rather catch up on sleep today than suffer to it on Monday.”

“I guess.” Reluctantly, Steve takes a step back, dropping Bucky’s arm. “I’ll see you Sunday, though. Stark invited me too. Maybe we can get some dinner after the main event?”

Bucky bites his lower lip, looking off to the side. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Steve smiles, the first true smile he’s had in a long time, and walks up the front stoop of his building, he feels Bucky’s eyes on his as he walks. He turns after opening the door and gives him a small wave.

“Are you sure about dinner tonight?” he asks one last time.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then… have a good night, Buck.”

“Yeah, you too, Stevie.”

This time it’s Bucky who watches Steve walk away and Steve is the one to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Phil Coulson. I can never get his body language down right though. Gregg Clark is an amazingly calm actor, I just... how?


	6. Stark Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky after the 'accidental' run-in with Steve.

Bucky only agrees to go out on another date with Brock out of sheer boredom. That’s the first thing he tell Clint later than night after walking home after talking to Steve. The first thing Clint tells him is that he’s kidding himself if he think that excuse if going to work on him. Bucky walks away after that - ignoring Clint who is listing the reasons why Bucky agreed to go out with such a muscled asshole who frequently talked down to Bucky, dismissing his thoughts even after asking him to voice them - and goes to the bathroom to hop in the shower and wash off both work and the feel of Brock’s hands on him.

The touch had been brief and yet it had made Bucky’s skin crawl, making him suppress a shiver while Brock pulled him into a quick kiss. Bucky had quickly mumbled an apology after he pulled away making the man grip his arm a bit tighter before chuckling and letting go. It was then that they left, Bucky making sure that Brock didn’t follow him before making his way home.

And then Steve had happened.

Steve with his soft eyes and wavering declaration. Steve with his gentle artist fingers trailing his arm, leaving a fire in their wake, cleansing him of the sticky feel left over from Brock’s touch. Steve with his inventions and gentle prodding. He hadn’t even looked confused or annoyed that Bucky was hanging around his building, he looked… happy, surprised maybe, very unlike the last time they had seen one another.

Steve who he invited him over to dinner, for a home cooked meal, even after everything that had happened before. Steve who looked disappointed, sad, but didn’t guilt him into staying, didn’t beg either. He just… offered. Like two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time and were planning to catch up while the other was in town.

It wasn’t what Bucky had expected, that was for sure. Especially after having spent nearly an hour with a man who made him regret having a customer service job.

Bucky stays in the shower much longer than normally, letting the hot water ease his tense muscles, letting his mind think of nothing but the sounds of the water hitting the bathtub. He only gets out when the water runs cold, the change of temperature snapping him out of the relaxed state he was in and making him scramble out of the tub for his towel all in one moment. He dries off, wrapping the towel around his hips, and steps out of the shower.

“Had a nice long shower,” Clint says with a smirk, turning around on the couch to face Bucky, “thinking about Steve, were you?”

Bucky ignores him, walking to his bedroom to change into some comfortable pants and shirt. He dries his hair, running a comb through it before Clint can tease him about his bird’s nest and sits down on the edge of his bed. He sighs.

Tomorrow at seven am, way later than he would typically be up on Saturday morning, he’s meeting Natasha for a tour of Stark Industries. He doesn’t know the details, just that he’s got a tour that is set to last for most of the day and then, in the afternoon, he’s to sit down with Tony Stark himself to go over details for the new diner. He’s still not sure why he’s the one to meet Stark when he’s only a cook, it should be Sitwell or anyone else higher than him, but from what he knows, Sitwell and the others don’t even know about the party, the staff keeping it a secret from them.

Sitwell, the manager, and Pierce, the owner, are not the best of… anything. They have no idea how to run a restaurant, let alone how to handle a staff with the amount of experience everyone had. Maybe that’s why they were so hands on, everyone except for Peter, had years and years of experience and could handle everything on a day to day basis while Sitwell and Pierce handled the money side of things.

At first that didn’t sit well with Bucky and he thought, thanks to Clint and his conspiracies, that maybe this was a front for the mob or something. Just a business to launder their money with. The only other person he ever heard voice this concern was Scott and given that Scott was just as suspicious of everyone and their mother, Buck didn’t put further thought to that.

But Sitwell, who came in twice or so a week to do the food order and a bank run, pretty much was absent from the day-to-day running of Shield. Pierce almost never showed up unless the health inspector was coming or he had sign off on repairs for the building. In the two years that Bucky has worked at Shield, he’s only seen Pierce a handful of times. Once at his interview when he was first hired, then at the HR meeting to sign some paperwork and then two other times during health inspections.

Since he’s started, nothing's been repairs - not the decade old stove or the pipes in the bathroom that sometimes burst and make the diner smell like shit. He knows there’s been complaints - mostly from Kate and Darcy who are the ones tasked to clean the bathrooms when that happens - but either nothing makes it to Pierce’s hands or the man doesn’t care.

Bucky, Wanda, Pietro, Scott and Wade have taken it upon themselves to make repairs to Shield, or, as many as they can without needing to buy new expensive parts or get a repair man. Clint has even helped out when things got too serious, like the gas smell that Sitwell assure them was only their imagination. If it wasn’t for the crew working together and caring about the state of the restaurant, Bucky was sure this place would have gone under way before he started working there.

But now Tony was the owner, now a big corporation like Stark Industries, was in charge. Bucky hoped it wouldn’t be just another Pierce, a hands-off owner who didn’t care as long as the money kept coming in and no one died.

He gets off the bed with a sigh. His shoulders are still tense and a not so gentle ache was starting to form behind his eyes as he steps out of his room and into the kitchen. He gives it five minutes before the ache has grown into a full strength migraine, especially with Clint who turns to face him on the couch again and seems intent on continuing their earlier conversation.

“You trying to make Steve jealous,” he proclaims when Bucky finally plops down on the couch next to him.

“What?”

“You heard me, bro. You trying to make Steve all hot and spicy so he’ll fight for your honor and declare that he’s been a fool and he’s been in love with you the whole time and he misses you and he can’t live without you so,” he leans towards Bucky, hands together as if pleading, “please take me back, Bucky! I can’t live without you, Bucky!”

Bucky pushes him back and rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

“Yeah, I do,” Clint replies sitting back down. “It would be very interesting to witness. So drama. Much party.”

“Do you even realise how wrong that -”

“You know… you coulda picked any other futzing place between your apartment and your job. Like that cafe-slash-bakery that makes those chocolate eclairs with raspberry filling. Or that sandwich place a few doors down from Shield that had that awesome mac and cheese. Or that -”

“Is there a point to this or are you just hungry?”

“Both,” Clint nods. “My point is that you suggested that place cuz you know Steve’s jogging route and he runs right past it. If you really wanted to avoid Steve, you woulda picked somewhere the _opposite_ way of his place.”

“Maybe I wanted to be close to my place in case he ended up being a creep,” Bucky suggested, looking away from Clint who was shaking his head.

“Or maybe, maybe you were hoping to run into Steve and shove in his face the fact that you have a dude now and you’re over him. You’re not, by the way, over him. And the dude _was_ a creep, you said it yourself! But you keep going out with him, what’s it been three times now?, and at the exact same place. Just admit it, bro, you wanna run into Steve. Just say it. _Saaaaay it.”_

“I - I actually did,” Bucky admits, “I did run into him today. Outside his place when I was walking back.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clint responds, making Bucky’s head turn sharply. Clint just nods. “What? Sam texted me. Says that Steve’s happier than he’s been in weeks. That you agreed to dinner?”

“I - I didn’t agree to anything,” Bucky answers with a shake of his head. “I said I would think about it, not that I would do it.”

“Well, that’s not how Steve tells it.”

There’s a heavy pause where Clint fiddles with the hem of his shirt, pulling at a loose strand. Bucky jiggles his leg up and down trying not to think about Steve going up to his place with a smile, yelling for Sam at the front door and not waiting for the man to be in the same room before gushing about what happened.

It’s what he’d done when he first met Sharon and Bucky was still his roommate. He’d come back from their first date and, from the front door of their shitty college apartment, had started to tell Bucky how wonderful and polished and absolutely amazing Sharon was. Bucky had been in the shower for most of his ramblings, granted, but he got the gist when he walked into the living room and Steve looked up at him from the couch with brilliant blue eyes full of hope.

Was that how Steve was now? Gushing and talking excitedly about his encounter with Bucky? Would that change if he knew that Bucky had just come from a date? Would he care if he knew the date was with another man?

“He’s going to the Stark thing on Sunday,” Clint says. “Sam’s going with him.”

“I figured he would bring Sam, yeah. And Nat told me about Tony wanting him to decorate the walls with his art. Your uncle wants him to do the same, you know, once he gets the money to do the repairs.”

“Yeah. He isn’t even close to the amount he needs to shut down and fix the place up. Luckily, Melinda is the brains and brawn of the two and we’ve come to an understanding that Phil needs to know nothing about.”

“He’s going to kick your ass, isn’t he?”

“Maybe, maybe.” He nods slowly. “But Melinda will make sure he doesn’t find out until it’s too late to back out. I mean, I got all this money just sitting in my basement, might as well use it for something.”

“So… why do you have money in your basement again?”

“Tracksuits,” Clint replies cryptically. “But don’t change the subject! I was going to ask who you’re bringing to the shin-dig. Is it me? Cuz I need to check my calendar, mister, I’m not an easy date!”

“Aren’t you going with Natasha?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“I was thinking maybe bringing … Brock?”

“Ha! You’re hilarious, bro!” When Bucky doesn’t laugh with, Clint narrows his eyes and asks, louder than necessary, “seriously? Why the futzing would you do that?”

“Who else would I take?”

“I don’t know… maybe Melinda?”

“And get my ass kicked? No thanks.”

“Ah, c’mon. You can beat Phil.”

“No, I meant Melinda.” Bucky shakes his head. “She’s kinda a badass. She could probably kill me with her pinky and not even break a sweat.”

“Yeah… she could. You right.” Clint rubs the back of his neck, his lips set in a pout.

“I haven’t asked him yet,” Bucky says. “He might say no.”

“The problem is what if he says yes.”

Bucky bites his lower lip, tempted to agree but unwilling to let Clint win the argument from before. Maybe what Clint said made sense, maybe he _was_ purposefully taking Brock to the same place just two blocks from Steve’s apartment because he hoped - he _knew_ , god dammit, he fucking knew - frequently jogged by it. Sometimes during his run, he would stop by on his way back and pick up a pizza.

He would text Bucky as it was being made to meet him outside his place where they would go upstairs and have some beers while eating and watching some stupid show on the television that neither men were invested on. Bucky missed those day, when the tv was on but all their attention was on each other. But Clint didn’t know that, Clint didn’t need another detail to hound him about.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, letting the conversation fade until Clint loses interest for the moment and turns to the tv, taking out his hearing aids and turning on the subtitles to some cheesy movie on the Hallmark Channel. He said it helped to concentrate on the story and plot if he didn’t have to listen to the actors voices but Bucky knows that Clint is a lying bag of shits.

The first time they watched the Hallmark Channel, they saw, of all things, _The Notebook_. It was fine at first, and the first complication in the story happened and suddenly the cheesy, soft music had Clint balling like a baby, hanging off Natasha’s arm, trying to hide behind her all the while sobbing loudly. The next time they watched it, this time with an unsuspecting Steve, they turned on the subtitles and Natasha was ready for a sobbing Clint only to find him nodding along to the words. It was only later that they found out his aids were in his pocket because he didn’t want to cry again. Ever since then, whenever a movie was deemed a ‘chick-flick’ or anything involving dogs and their possible harm, Clint either made excuses to be somewhere else or he took his aids out and read the subtitles.

Bucky had learned to go with it after some initial teasing. And even he had to mute the television when they watched _Marley and Me_ for the first time. And don’t even mention _Hachi_ , even Natasha had shed a tear or two by the credits.

This movie wasn’t too bad, cheesy and predictable, but no tearjerker. Something about a blogger falling in love with a handsome veterinarian. An enemies-to-lovers story that made no sense in real life but worked on the screen. If only Bucky’s life was a story that would get a predictable happy ending. Maybe then he would have more faith that things were going to work out for the best.

But he knew better, feelings don’t just appear after one accidental meeting nor after two decades of friendship, in Bucky’s case.

* * *

He wakes up at his regular time the next morning and then rolls to his side and promptly falls asleep again. His shift is being taken care of by the Maximoff twins this morning, Wanda and Pietro, so that he can go to meet with Nat and Tony and then report back what he finds out via a massive group text. Or so that’s what Darcy told him he was going to do after his meeting - more like threatened even though Bucky was going to do it anyway.

If there was anything he learned from the whole incident with Steve, it’s that he needs to be more transparent with everyone in his life. If he’s open with everyone about everything, even about his feelings for Steve, there is no way he can hurt someone’s feelings later. Kate was the first to jump onboard with this when he told them about his new policy. She’s a good kid, even if she is related to Clint, so is Darcy and they keep each other honest at work where things can get heavy. Especially with rude or demanding customers.

When the alarm on his phone rings again, this time for the proper time, he gets up and gets a change of clothes to take to the bathroom. Clint is laying on the couch at all angles, the typical Clint Barton resting position, snoring away. Bucky turns on the coffee machine, putting enough grinds that its extra bitter, just the way Clint likes it. Bucky might even need that extra strength today if he’s to deal with hotshots all day.

After a quick shower, he changes into the clothes he’d brought with, not even looking at the state of his hair, and leaves the bathroom. The kitchen smells like coffee and it sounds like Clint humming to himself. Bucky walks by the kitchen, throwing a hello to Clint, and goes to his room to finish changing. He looks at his phone and sees a text from Natasha telling him the driver will be there in ten minutes, which gives him enough time to make some toast and down some coffee.

In the kitchen, Clint is pouring coffee into a two mugs. He slides one over to Bucky on the counter when he walks in, pointing to the sugar packets behind him with his thumb.

“Thanks,” Bucky says mixing two packets of sugar into his black coffee.

“You’re the one that made the coffee, bro,” Clint replies. “I just poured it. Got some toast in the toaster too. Was gonna make pancakes but Nat said you gotta be there by seven, right?”

“Right. She’s got a car coming for me.”

“Yup, I’m comin’ along so I better get ready!”

“Where are you going?”

“Stark wants to talk about Shield. Thor’s gonna meet me there later, Nat said it was okay if I tagged along with you.”

“Oh, well, you better hurry up. I’m leaving in exactly five minutes,” Bucky warns as Clint gulps down the rest of his coffee as if it wasn’t hot at all. Bucky takes a sip of his and reaches for the toast as it pops out of the toaster. “Four minutes.”


	7. Black Plates and Red Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally have THE talk. But does it really solve anything or does it make things more complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. Enjoy.

Steve's Saturday starts as usual. He got up early morning to go jogging his usual route. He passes by Bucky’s place, a smile on his face, before jogging back home to shower, just as the sun was peaking softly over the horizon. Things were going to get better with Bucky, he promises as he opens the door to his apartment, securing the key back up on the doorframe.

Bucky kinda accepted his dinner invitation, his _date_ invitation, though he might not have been clear enough about it being a date since Sam had rolled his eyes and called Steve a dumbass when he told him. Maybe he should have been clearer that he was asking for a date? Hell, Steve hadn't thought about it as a date either until he was going up the stairs, not until Sam had asked him about his jog.

“You zoom by anyone interesting, super soldier?” Sam had asked casually when Steve walked in. “Any dirty politician we gotta report to the cops for not helping little old ladies cross the street?”

“That was one time,” Steve mumbled walking to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He downed half of it, calming his breath in the next breath before responding. “I ran into Bucky in my way back, actually.”

“You mean you went back to Avengers and timed your jog to his exit,” Sam scoffed, “like a stalker.”

“Semantics.”

“Did you talk to him? Cuz you look happy right now and it’s kinda freaking me out a little,” Sam turned on the couch, eyeing him. “Wait - does that mean you finally hashed things out like adults?”

“I asked him out on a date,” Steve proclaimed, coming around the kitchen counter to the couch. He sat down next to Sam, worrying his hands in his lap. “I asked him out for dinner. He, um, said he'd think about it.”

“Wait, wait a minute,” Sam said shaking his head. “I don't believe it. What were your exact words?”

“I asked him up for dinner.”

“Okay, okay. And? Didya say it was a date? Was the word date even brought up?”

“Well, no, but it's implied, isn't it?”

“No, Steve, it's really not. Friends ask friends out for dinner all the time. It doesn't mean it's a date.”

“But I -”

“Did you say ‘hey Bucky let’s go on a date’ or did you say ‘wanna have some diner’?”

“D-does it matter?”

“You said the second one, didn't you?” Steve didn’t respond. Sam whipped out his phone and sent out a quick text. “Ima ask an expert. Clint is probably over there eating his food.”

“Wait - what?”

“Have you ever asked anyone out before? Cuz that's not how you do it,” Sam said. Steve shook his head again and Sam rolled his eyes. “Dumbass.”

“I think I need to go shower,” Steve has answered instead retreating into his room and running everything over in his head.

Hours later and he still isn't sure if Sam is right or not. And it bothers him. He wants to text Bucky and ask him straight out. But he can’t. He’s too coward to do it so instead he spends the day cleaning his apartment from top to bottom, making sure everything is neat and in its place.

Bucky always cleaned whenever something was bothering him and considering how messy he was the rest of the time, by the end of it Bucky had worked out whatever it was that had been bothering him. Steve use to sketch his profile whenever he got into one of those moods.

The way his tongue would peak out at the side of his lips when he moved furniture. The way the muscles in his arms would flex when he swept. The way his shirt would lift to reveal a bit of pale skin when he dusted. Steve used to spend hours watching and sketching Bucky. Not that Bucky ever knew.

He finds a few quarters under the couch cushions and more than a few dust bunnies when he starts his own cleaning. He moves his couch, his living room table and pulls out all his DVDs, blu rays, video games and leftover vhs from the television stand. He sits down on the floor, making enough room so he can organize everything.

It takes him almost an hour to polish the surface of the cabinet and then organize everything by release year and then by name and type.

He stops for lunch, making a sandwich and eating some of the chips Sam bought after the last grocery run. He eats in the kitchen, munching while taking everything out of his cupboards. Steve realises, after emptying two cupboards, that he owns a lot of mugs. He also realises he’s got a lot of decorative plates which he doesn’t use, ever. Maybe he can hold a front yard sale or something to get rid of them all.

He stops when he sees a black plate with a red star in the center. He puts it gently on the counter with a sigh. Steve’s jaw clenches as he thumbs the star, tracing the sharp lines. He takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of the plate. He opens up his messaging app, opening a new message and attaching the picture to it. He scrolls through and selects Bucky’s name. He adds:

**I miss her so much.**

Then sends it before he can change his mind. The reply comes back right away:

**I still have the letter she wrote me… I miss her too.**

Steve smiles sadly at his phone, putting his phone next to the plate with the text faceup. He traces the star one last time.

* * *

His mother, Sarah, had bought the plate the last time they had gone to the farmer’s market.

Bucky, Sarah and Steve went to the farmer’s market every other weekend buying not only vegetables and fruits from local farmers, but also second hand items. It was also a great way for Steve to check out local art and chat with the artists about different techniques and find out new innovative ways to use everyday items as inspiration and as materials.

On this particular day, they were walking by a stand when Sarah’s eye caught on the black plate. Steve, who had his arm linked with Sarah’s, stopped as well. Bucky was walking ahead, looking at a stand of fruits, entertained far enough not to hear Sarah.

“His birthday is coming up,” she told Steve, looking at the plate carefully. “I think he’ll like this one.”

“I don’t know,” Steve replied with a smile. “I was just going to take him out for dinner and a movie or something.”

“A proper date?” She elbowed him in the ribs. He ducked his head shyly and took the plate from Sarah. “Buy it for him. I think he’ll love it.”

So he had. Hiding it from Bucky was the hardest part since he carried their bags and, as a thanks for bringing him along, he would put their things away at home. They managed, Sarah working as a distraction while Steve snuck the newspaper wrapped plate into Sarah’s room, the one room in their apartment Bucky was sure not to enter.

Steve had a giant smile on his face the rest of the day just picturing Bucky’s face when the day finally came. Sarah smacked him upside the head while they ate lunch claiming that Bucky had asked if there was something wrong with Steve’s face since it was stuck in a giant smile. The smile remained on his face no matter how many times Bucky warned him that if he wasn’t careful, he would end up smiling like a goof forever.

A week later, however, Sarah was in the hospital the bad cough she got a few days after the farmer’s market. She was getting worse and worse, her immune system unable to fight off the pneumonia that was building in her lungs. Soon enough she became dehydrated and needed help to breathe. The pneumonia was only the tip of the iceberg for Sarah Rogers.

Steve spent Bucky’s twentieth birthday in the hospital holding his mother’s hand.

Bucky spent his birthday on the other side of the bed, holding Sarah’s other hand.

It was a few more weeks until Sarah lost the fight, even with both of her boys at her side. It was the coughing that scared Bucky the most, he’d told Steve later, the fluid in her lungs reminding him of the sound Steve would make whenever he had a bad asthma attack. Steve had never seen Bucky cry - not at the hospital when the doctors found them in the waiting room and not at the funeral when Sarah was lowered into the ground - until almost a year later when they were living together in a little apartment just off campus and Steve developed a cough. It had been just a cold, nothing serious, but the look on Bucky’s face, the way his eyes widened as he rushed over from where he’d been in the kitchen to the couch where Steve sat, books lying all around him, is a look Steve would never forget.

Neither was the look that Bucky gave him that same year in March when Bucky’s twentieth birthday came around when he tried to give Bucky the gift. Bucky unwrapped the gift with a sad smile but it wasn’t until he read the note attached, one written by Sarah, that Bucky reacted. His eyes skimmed the letter twice, looking up at Steve a few times before returning to the page. His steel blue eyes softened when he pulled Steve into a tight hug and holding him until they were too tired to do anything but fall asleep on the couch, tears drying on their cheeks. Steve never found out what Sarah had written in the letter … But Bucky still had it so it had to say something important enough that Bucky would keep it for so long.

The plate was tucked away in Steve’s cupboard until today. The memories associated with the plate - the longing for both his mother and for Bucky - long forgotten until now.

* * *

An hour later, the shelves are clean, organised and even labeled. He’s moved on to the fridge, checking all the expiration dates and cringing when he finds some really old take out containers in the back of the bottom shelf. He de-freezes his freezer, eating the one container of ice cream he has left before noticing the time.

He goes to his room, changing into his jogging clothes, taking Bucky’s plate with him and putting it gently on his bed. He’ll have to buy some bubble wrap or something to keep it safe in order to give it to Bucky. He can't just hand it over, he has to do something special with it. Bucky’s birthdays passed, Christmas is too far off and the only other gift-giving left is Steve’s birthday but that obviously isn't going to work. Maybe once things get better between them, once they've figured out this mess that Steve caused, maybe then Steve can gift Bucky the plate.

He ties his shoes by the door and slips his phone and some money into the arm band Sam got him last Christmas and puts that on comfortably. He plugs in his headphones and then leaves his apartment.

* * *

He comes back two hours later smelling like sweat and carrying bags of groceries. It wasn't the best of planning and it had earned him some looks from other customers when he got in line and they smelled the drying sweat.

After jogging enough to clear his mind, he usually heads to the grocery store to shops. It earns him a wide berth, people wrinkling their noses at him and his sweaty jogging shirt but it also guarantees no one will try and talk to him.

Bucky used to say he did it on purpose so women wouldn't go up to him while he shopped in order to ask him out. And it was true, sure. He can keep his music blasting in his ears as he goes up and down the aisles uninterrupted. Sometimes a brave soul will approach him, eying him from far away enough to take in his physique but not enough to smell him after a five mile run. But when they do… Well, Steve doesn't think he smells _that_ bad.

He puts away the perishables before slipping out of his clothes, throwing them in the wash on his way to shower. He let’s the hot water work over his tired slightly overtaxed muscles. He stands under the spray of water and, for the first time in a long time he lets himself remember his mother.

* * *

Steve finishes his shower, wrapping a towel around his waist just as the doorbell rings. He rushes to the buzzer, gripping the towel so it doesn’t slip, and presses the intercom.

“Yeah?”

There’s a long pause, long enough for Steve to start thinking he’s gone crazy and imagined the sound. But then he hears a voice.

“It-It’s Bucky. I thought about dinner.”

Steve leans forward until his forehead is pressed against the wall. He smiles and presses the intercom to reply. “I’ll buzz you in. Come on up.”

“O-okay.”

Steve unlocks the door and waits a few moments, straining to listen for the door closing behind Bucky. Once he hears it opening and closing, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He considers waiting for Bucky in the hall but then catches himself on the mirror on the wall and rushes off to his bedroom, changing into his pj’s as fast as he can.

By the time he comes back out, he expects Bucky to be inside already, lounging around in his living room like he used to. But instead he hears a soft knock on the door. Steve blinks and walks to the door, opening.

“It was open,” Steve says. “You coulda came in.”

“Oh,” Bucky says with a small smile. “I didn’t know if I - if I could.”

“Always, Buck.” Steve steps to the side, waving Bucky in. He closes the door behind them and follows him into the apartment. Bucky hovers between the living room and the kitchen, looking lost and uncomfortable. “I was gonna make pasta, you okay with that?”

“Really going all out, ain’t you?” Bucky teases. Steve laughs and that seems to be enough to make Bucky relax. He goes to the kitchen, pulling out the container of pasta Steve has in pantry. Steve smiles, watching him as he moves around the kitchen as if it was his own even after Steve had completely re-organised it this morning. “Stevie, stop staring and get a skillet. Or am I gonna have to do all the work?”

Steve chuckles, pushing himself off the counter. “Jerk.” He gets a skillet, putting it on the stove and turning it on. He pours in some oil and turns to Bucky. “I got some onions and some beef a few hours ago. I don’t know about the tomato paste…”

“You got mozzarella balls?”

Steve scoffs. “‘Course I do!”

“Punk,” Bucky mutters opening the fridge. “I’ll take care of anything else if you keep an eye on the pasta.”

“What? You don’t trust me with more?”

“Your skillet’s on fire,” Bucky deadpans, pointing behind Steve who immediately turns around. Bucky laughs. “You’re too easy!”

Steve laughs. “You got me. Now pass me the pasta or else we’re never gonna get anything done.”

* * *

It takes them longer than it should to get dinner ready. Steve will take some of the blame but he can’t help to rile Bucky up. It’s been a long time since they’ve been in the same room together, let alone this close to one another. His kitchen fits them both comfortable and yet they bump into each other at every turn.

Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s waist as he passes to get the strainer from the dish rack. Bucky presses against Steve’s back in order to reach for some salt and pepper on the nearby spice rack. Motions that were natural even predictable that reminded Steve of their shared apartment and it’s tiny kitchen. More than once their hands brush or they would hand each other things without needing to ask verbally. It made the butterflies in his stomach flutter about every time their eyes meet and it only makes Steve more determined to making things better between them. They work so well together, it was a wonder it took Steve so long to realise why.

By the time the food is ready, Bucky is walking around the apartment like he owns the place. There is a familiarity that comes back to him, almost like he suddenly remembers that he used to spend every other day here on the couch with Steve. He’s walking around, hands touching everything, fingertip ghosting over surfaces while Steve sets the table.

“You cleaned,” Bucky says from the living room. He frowns, walking back to the kitchen table where Steve is. “Is that how you found the plate? By finally cleaning out your cabinets?”

“Yeah. I woulda found it sooner if I cleaned more often, I guess.”

“That’s not what I meant. Are you okay? You only clean and reorganize when you’re trying to work something out. Is it work?”

“Are you tryna say I don’t clean unless I’m stressed out?” Steve shakes his head, avoiding Bucky’s eyes as he walks back to the kitchen. “Insulting me in my own home after I made you dinner. That’s just not nice, Buck.”

Bucky follows him, going to the fridge to get some more cheese. Steve quirks an eyebrow but he just shrugs. “Leave me alone with my cheese. Anyway, you’re avoiding my question. What’s got you so… so Super Nanny all of a sudden?”

“And now you’re calling me a maid?” He grabs the bowl of pasta and brings it to the table. Bucky watches him, intense eyes waiting for an answer. Steve sets the bowl down and looks at him. “Wanna know the truth? It’s you. I’m trying to work out … us.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches but his eyes never leave Steve’s. “Have you, um, worked it out yet?”

“Kinda got distracted by memories,” Steve admits. “But I think I have. Worked it out, I mean.”

He pulls out a chair and waits until Bucky does the same before sitting down. Bucky lingers, hands gripping the back of his chair so hard Steve wonders if he’s strong enough to break the wood. He looks away, reaching for the bowl of pasta and serving himself some. After a few seconds later, he hears the chair scrap on the floor and, out of the corner of his eye, sees Bucky sit slowly.

Steve passes him the bowl with a soft smile, hoping to god that he didn’t say the wrong thing to ruin the night. Bucky takes the bowl and shakes his head with a fond smile. He serves himself a large helping, puts the bowl down and looks around the table.

“Where’s the rest of my cheese?”

“Your cheese?” Steve teases. “I’m pretty sure I bought it.”

“Semantics,” Bucky says with a wave of his hand. Steve hands him the bag and he opens it, sprinkling some on top of his pasta. “You can never have enough cheese.”

“Pretty sure you can.”

“Nah, it’s a myth. Cheese makes everything better.”

“Well, there’s plenty more cheese in the fridge if you wanna just eat it straight out. You don’t gotta ruin it with pasta, ya know.”

“If I wasn’t so chill right now, I would slap you upside the head for disrespecting cheese. I’ma let it slide. Now shut up and eat.”

* * *

The rest of dinner goes well. Bucky tells him about his day at Stark Industries and how much of a disappointment it ended up being. There were some good parts like watching Clint run into glass doors from being distracted by the glass windows.

“I swear there’s a Clint shaped forehead smudge on every floor!”

And how the kitchen’s occupied a room that was twice as big as both their apartments put together. He also met Bruce Banner, Tony Stark’s best friend.

“He’s like so chill. Tony kept trying to rile everyone up and one look from Bruce and it was like a light switch flipped and he calmed down. Even started to tell me about the plans for Shield, ya know, the whole reason I was there.”

He also got to meet the rest of Clint’s crew. Thor, who Steve had met before, and his brother Loki.

“He’s weird. I don’t like the way he bosses Clint around. Thor is awesome though. When I left, Tony was tryna push for a drinking contest against him and Nat. Told Clint to snapchat me what happens. Betcha Nat win, though.”

They finished eating while Bucky talked excitedly about the plans for Shield. Steve loves the way his eyes shine talking about all the renovations and upgrades that Stark promised. His smile was infectious and it had Steve smiling too. They talk about Steve’s plans for the restaurant too and he admits he hasn’t thought about it much.

“He hasn’t told me any specifics,” Steve says. “All I know is that i got commissioned for a few pieces and installations. Nat is supposed send over a contract for me to sign next week and I'm going to be meeting someone next week.”

“Well, it’s gonna be awesome!”

They lounge around for a good hours talking before either of them looked at the time. It felt good to catch up, even if Steve knows Bucky is holding back something like his long work hours and his date last night. He knows they have to rebuild their relationship slowly, to bring back what they had before without complicating things too much. Still, when Bucky turns up to leave after helping with the dishes, Steve doesn’t want the night to be over.

“I'm really happy you came,” Steve says, hands in his pockets leaning against the door wall. “I thought you might need some company after...” Bucky says with a shrug. He looks down at his feet. “I miss going out to bargain shop with her on the weekends and catching up on Sunday's at brunch. I miss her so much and she wasn't even my mom.”

“She loved you, you know. I was a jealous for a while. Did I ever tell you? You two would go out for lunch on the weekends while I was stuck with homework. I thought she loved you more than me.”

Steve pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards Bucky, who looks up with curious eyes. He doesn't back away which Steve takes as a good sign and takes another step. He smiles softly, one hand reaching to cup Bucky’s cheek. Bucky leans into the touch, their eye meeting. When Bucky takes a step back, Steve mirrors him, keeping the distance between them at a minimum.

“Steve…”

“I made a mistake last time,” Steve whispers, “I pushed you away when I shoulda - when I shoulda done this.”

He leans forward, capturing Bucky’s lips. It's a light kiss, just a brush of lips it it's enough to light Steve’s skin. He reaches with his other hand, cupping Bucky's face and tipping his head back. Bucky gasps and it's enough to allow Steve’s tongue to push his way inside his mouth. Steve kisses him with everything he’s got. All the raw emotions he's felt all this time - from seeing Bucky at Avengers on a date to seeing the dish his mom bought before she died.

He kisses Bucky until they’re both breathless, the way he should have done weeks ago.

He pulls away for a breath, their foreheads touching. Bucky’s eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed and lips plump from their kiss. At some point, Bucky's hands situated themselves on Steve’s hip where they now grip him tightly, his thumbs just under Steve’s shirt. It sends a shiver down Steve’s spine to feel Bucky’s fingers on him, rubbing tiny circles on his hips.

Steve doesn't dare move, apart from panting lightly as they catch their breath, he doesn't move a muscle until Bucky opens his eyes slowly. Their eyes lock, Steve’s thumb traces Bucky’s cheek as they stare at each other.

After a few moments, Bucky’s grip on his hips relaxes and then his hands drop away. Steve drops one of his hands, the other still tracing Bucky’s cheek. He moves down to the perfect jaw, his thumb scraping the two-day-old scruff that Bucky’s grown.

 _God_ , he thinks, _how did I not notice how beautiful you are? I’m a damned fool._

Steve's eyes fall to Bucky’s full lips, still parted and flushed red. He sees Bucky’s eyes mirror his gaze. His thumb stills at Bucky’s chin, rubbing at the clef there. Bucky lets out a small gaps and it's all the warning Steve gets before Bucky pulls him into another world shattering kiss.

This time it's all heat and desperation. Their teeth change together, their tongue fighting for dominance. Bucky grabs Steve by the neck tilting his head back and deepening the kiss further, moaning into Steve’s mouth when Steve bites at his lower lip. His other hand slips under Steve’s shirt, pulling his body closer by the hip. Their bodies flushed, Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s thighs.

Without prompting, Bucky gives a little jump and Steve grabs him by the thighs until his legs wrap around Steve’s waist. Their lips never part, even when Bucky pulls at Steve hair once he starts walking, carrying Bucky back to the living room and pushing him down on the couch and then laying on top of him until their bodies are flushed.

Steve’s hips grind down on Bucky’s, the evidence of arousal obvious as their bodies slot together. He rolls his hips, earning a deep moan from Bucky who finally pulls away from their kiss. He moans again, louder, his hands clawing at Steve’s back, when he starts kissing his way down Bucky’s neck.

Steve’s hands touch down the length of Bucky’s leg, tracing the strong muscles of his thighs until he reaches his ass. His hands curve, lifting Bucky slightly and cupping his ass while grinding their hips together. Bucky lets out another loud moan, a deep guttural sound that Steve commits to memory.

It all stops when Steve’s other hand pulls at Bucky’s shirt, trying to pull it upwards his body to remove it and finally touch Bucky’s hot skin.

“W-wait. Ah fuck that feels so good!” Bucky says pushing Steve away. “S-Steve, Shit, I c-can't do this.”

Steve stops when he hears that. Pulling away and sitting back on the couch still between Bucy’s legs. They’re both breathing hard and it takes a moment before their heartbeats settle. When they do, Steve feels his plummet when he Bucky pulls away from under him, pulling his legs away until he’s sitting on the couch.

“Sorry, that was too fast, wasn't it?” Steve tries, sitting on the couch next to Bucky. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh. I fucked up again, is what he really wants to ask but instead he says: “I - I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

“We, uh, we both did,” Bucky says softly. He traces his lower lip, the one Steve bit slightly, with the tip of his fingers. Bucky shakes his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I… I think I should go home.”

“A-are you-” Steve stops, feeling his throat constrict. He worries his lower lip between his teeth as Bucky stands up, straightening his shirt. Steve runs a hand through his hair again, pulling at it but not quite feeling the same emotion he’d felt a few moments ago when it was Bucky whose fingers were wrapped up in his hair.

“Steve,” Bucky says turning to face him. Steve doesn’t look up, all he sees are a pair of socked feet turning towards him. “Hey, look at me.” Steve looks up, leaning back on the couch. “We have so many things to talk about. This - this is just one of them. But I want you to think about what you just did. What _we_ just did. What we, shit, what we were about to do.”

“I - I don’t regret a moment of it,” Steve says, his jaw clenching. “Not one bit.”

Bucky smiles softly. “Me either. That’s not what I - I don’t want you to regret it. I’ve wanted to do that for so long. I dreamed about doing that since - well, you know.” He runs a hand through his long hair, pulling the hair tie off his already loose ponytail. He looks down at Steve, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “I’m just not sure if you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“What?” Steve stands up sharply, making Bucky take a step back. “What are you saying?”

“The last time I was here, Steve, I told you how I felt and you looked like,” he stops, taking a deep breath, “you looked like I’d done something terrible. I have that look ingrained in my mind. One moment you were happy and talking about, fuck, about Sharon and the next you were - I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“I was shocked, Buck. I’d never thought about you in that way, ever. I never knew you thought about me, I thought I would never have a chance with you. I -” Steve shakes his head, looking at Bucky with pleading eyes. “I love you.”

“Like a brother,” Bucky says with sigh, walking away. “I know. I remember.”

“No,” Steve says going after him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around. Bucky lets himself be turned. Steve takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve been thinking about us. A lot. And I think - no, I know - that I love you and, with time, I could love you the way you love me.”

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh and shakes out of Steve’s hold. “That’s the problem, Steve. I already love you. I’ve loved you for most of my life. I don’t need time. I’ve had plenty of time, you’ve had plenty of time.”

“I didn’t know I had a chance with you,” Steve insists. “I didn’t know you felt like this before -”

“If you don’t love me after all this time, what makes you think a few more weeks or months or years will change that?”

“This time I _know_. This time I know how you feel and I can-”

“What? Pretend to love me?” Bucky shakes his head. “And what happens when you realise you can’t love me in the way I love you? What happens to me?” Steve doesn’t know what to say so he shrugs. Bucky’s hand touch his cheek, making Steve meet his eyes. “I’ll tell you what happens, I’ll be stuck where I am now.”

“Give me a chance to prove to you that I can be who you want me to be,” Steve says, reaching up to put his hand on top of Bucky’s. Bucky flinches and Steve realises that was not the correct thing to say when he pulls his hand back from under Steve’s. “Bucky?”

“I don’t want you to be someone you’re not, Steve.”

“Give me a chance, please. Let’s just start over.”

“There’s too much between us for that. I don’t think I can do that.” He runs a hand through his hair and takes a step back. “We shouldn’t have done _that_.”

“Sorry. I don’t know what to do to make you understand how I feel about you, Buck. No matter what I say, you won’t believe me, will you?”

Bucky gulps, his eyes on the floor between them. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s hard to sort through what’s real and what’s not. We wouldn’t be in this position if I’d kept my mouth shut two months ago. But I didn’t and now you’ve lost Sharon and I’ve lost my best friend.”

“Lost? You haven’t lost me,” Steve says taking a step forward. He’s lost, unsure how to make Bucky believe him. “You’ll never lose me. I’ve been miserable without you around. Sam’s been staying over cuz he thinks I’m too useless to feed myself.”

“That’s - that’s my point, Steve. Just because you miss me as a friend doesn’t mean you want me as something else. It doesn’t mean our relationship should turn into - into makeout sessions on the couch after a romantic dinner. It just means you miss having someone around who doesn’t take your shit.”

“I miss you around, sure,” Steve relents. Bucky looks up, biting his lower lip. “But that also doesn’t mean I don’t want us to be more than friends.”

“If I hadn’t said anything, you would’ve been engaged to Sharon. You woulda set a date and started to plan the wedding. Instead you’re here and you’re miserable and Sharon’s in a whole nother state. If I’d kept my stupid mouth shut -”

“- I would have never realised how much I loved you,” Steve interrupts. “How much I pushed my feelings away so many years. I let the world come between us, I let myself think that friendship was all I could get from you so I stopped wanting more. I pushed everything I felt for you deep down.”

“Steve -”

“No, just - just let me say this, alright?” Bucky nods slowly. “Maybe this whole time I was fooling myself into thinking that you couldn’t possibly love someone like me. Someone who made so many trips to the emergency room that the nurses knew my medical history without looking at the file. Someone so awkward that you had to flirt for me and get your girl to bring a friend along. I - I never thought it was possible.”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering between Steve’s face and somewhere over his left shoulder. “And now?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Just like that?”

“No, we still gotta talk about things but … it’s a start, right?”

“Can I, um, can I think about it?” Bucky asks. “Gimme the night to sort something out and tomorrow we can talk and… yeah.”

“Sure, Buck. Tomorrow is the Stark party, right? We can talk then.”

Steve follows Bucky to the doorway. Neither of them reach to open it, they just stand there looking at each other for a solid minute. Steve sees several emotions flicker by in Bucky’s steel blue eyes and it takes his breath away. He needs to get his notebook and pencil to sketch the way his eyes look, the way he licks his lips before looking down. His hands curl around the door handle and Steve almost makes a move to stop him.

But he doesn’t. He lets Bucky open the door, stands back and let’s him exit his apartment. He leans against the doorframe, his left hand on the doorknob. They stare at each other for a long moment - is their new thing, Steve thinks, to stare at each other like their scared the other isn’t really there. Their moment is broken when Bucky blinks, reaching for something in his back pocket.

“I almost forgot,” he says taking out his wallet. He pulls out an envelope from inside the billfold. “I swung by my place before coming here. I thought you might want to read it.”

“What, um, what is it?” Steve asks taking the letter. His heart stops when he recognises the handwriting. He looks up at Bucky and says, “it’s my mom’s handwriting.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It’s the letter that came with the plate you got me. I kept it cuz, well, you’ll see when you read it.”

Steve blinks, pushing back the tears he feels forming. “Thanks, Buck. I - thank you.”

“Don’t, uh, be too mad at me when you finish reading it, okay?”

“Mad? Why would I be-”

“Read it.” Bucky smiles, putting his wallet back in his back pocket and shoving his hands in his front pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow alright?”

“Good night, Bucky.”

“Night, Stevie.”

Steve waits, listening to Bucky going down the stairs and the downstairs door opening. He closes his own door, walking to the living room window and looking out. He sees Bucky standing at the steps, looking up at Steve’s apartment. He smiles when Steve comes into view and gives him a little wave before heading off. Steve looks down at his hands once Bucky is out of view.

He opens the envelope, pulling the letter out, and reads it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you wanna know what Sarah's letter said? Let me know


	8. Sarah's Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gave Steve a letter to read. This is what it said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted the letter so here it is along with a small Steve scene.  
> 

 

_Dear James,_

 

_I know that my time is at an end. The cough that shakes my body is taking over, I can feel it wasting my life away with every passing day. It’s too soon but, honestly, who doesn’t think that when they are in their deathbed?_

_I don’t intent to shy away from it. I am in the final stage of my life, even if the doctors continue to entertain the idea that it will all go away. A person knows their body, their soul, and I feel like a campfire burning out in a storm._

_I have only a few regrets and that’s saying something. I’ve lived a long life, don’t let my age fool you. I have loved a man who loved me and has given me a child to love even more. I have lost the man to the enemy of the country where my grandmother set foot almost one-hundred years ago. I have mothered not one child but two because you, James, are as close to my heart as Steve is._

_He loves you, you know that? You two are soulmates, that I know with all of my heart. Before Steve met you, he was aimlessly going through life at a pace and intensity that resembled a comet flying through space. He wasn’t living, he was merely existing. But then you walked into his life and everything changed. My little Stevie, the light of my life, had a light of his own._

_Every day he came home from school with a different story of his new friend. Bucky this and Bucky that was all I heard for a month before he finally brought you around. To be honest with you, I thought maybe he made up an imaginary friend right up until he pulled you into the kitchen, his eyes brighter than I'd ever seen them. You held hands when you were younger, do you remember that._

_From then on… it was like I had not one son but two. Wherever you were, Steve was there and vice versa. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened to Steve growing up. Especially in high school. That was rough for both of you but Steve… he would not have made it without you to look after him. He wouldn't have made it this far without you taking care of him when I could not._

_But I’m getting off track aren’t I? I have to stop writing every once in awhile so a nurse can check my vitals or a doctor can ask me questions about how I feel. The answers don’t change but it doesn’t stop them from coming in with their crisp white coats and clicking pens. I hate hospitals. I hated them when Stevie was sick and I hate them now that I am the one stuck in a hospital bed._

_The whole point to this letter, meant only for your eyes, is to ask you for a favor._

_Steve is stubborn. He will mess up and he will push you away. But don’t give up on him. He can be cruel when he wants to, he can point out your greatest fear like a great tactician exploiting the weakness of his enemy. But you can’t let him push you away. Promise me that, no matter what happens, no matter what Steve says, you will always look out for him?_

_But that is a two sided sword, isn’t it? I also ask you to not lose yourself. Don’t let Steve swallow you whole, to make you someone you are not. I see the way you look at him, James, he looks at you the same way when you aren’t looking. But he isn’t ready, not yet. You will know when he is._

_There will also be a point where it feels like the moment will never come. It will. Trust me. You will know when Steve is ready to break down the shield he carries over his heart to reveal the Bucky-size hole he’s tried to plaster over for so long. Just trust that, even when things look grim, they will get better._

_So, do this dying a woman a favor? Look out for my Stevie, look out for yourself and always, always know that I love you._

 

_Love,_

_Sarah_

* * *

Steve sits on his couch, his body tense. His hands grip the paper tight enough wrinkle it. He relaxes his grip, rereading the handwritten words over and over again.

He remembers Bucky's words: “I don't want you to be someone you're not.” 

He remembers the way Bucky flinched when he begged: “give me a chance to prove to you that I can be who you want me to be.” 

And now he knows. Now Steve understands why he waited so long. Why it took so long for Bucky to tell him the truth. And yeah, he’s mad. Who wouldn’t be? But there’s also a part of him that wonders if his mother had never gotten sick, never written the letter, would they be happy together? 

Maybe they would have had a house in a quiet neighborhood where there was a community watch group and block parties and all the kids from the block knew each other. Maybe they would have had a dog, a labrador or maybe a beagle, and one hundred pictures in their phones of holidays spent dressing them up in costumes. Maybe they would have started a family by now - an adopted child or foster kids.

Maybe by now, Steve wouldn’t wake up in the morning to an empty bed and an emptier apartment. By now, Bucky would not only know his way around the kitchen but would also be the owner of half of the things in their apartment. 

Maybe... they could have been happy together. They could have _been_ something - maybe, probably, in another universe - if it wasn’t for this letter. The one his mother wrote on her deathbed. The one that Bucky held on to for years. 

The one that made Steve lean to the side on his couch and let out a deep gasp, his lungs taking in as little air as possible as he continues to think of what his life with Bucky could have been like if the letter had never existed. 

Steve wishes, not for the first time, that his mother was here but for entirely different reasons than before.


	9. Pancakes and Pizza Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes pancakes and the day starts off alright. And then things go downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'll like mysteries? Well, this starts off a little like a mystery. I blame Steve. Don't be fooled by the pancakes and Clint...

_Later_

 

Bucky sighs against the door, closing his eyes to stop the stinging he felt. He can’t do this, not right now. Hell, not ever. If things weren’t going to get better, then what was the point of trying? And goddamnit, Bucky was trying to mend things but Steve, so self-righteous and stubborn, always has to be right.

“Fuck…” he whispers, breathing in deeply and hoping that the ball in his throat takes the hit and disappears. It doesn’t, holding on to the muscles of his throat for dear life and squeezing until the tears slip down his face. He slumps down the door, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Fucking hell, Stevie…”

* * *

_Now_

 

The day after dinner with Steve, Bucky wakes up to pounding on his bedroom door. He snaps awake, sitting up on his bed feeling as confused as the hotdogs in his dream had been. He reaches to the nightstand for his phone, seeing that it's only six in the morning. Only two people would be up as alert this early in the morning and one of those is back at his apartment probably hating Bucky right now, so that left…

“Open the door, James!” Natasha calls out. “I don't wanna get my lock picks out but I will!”

“Are you kicking my door?” Bucky yells back, getting up from the bed and rushing over to the door before Natasha can dent it or, hell, break it. He pulls it open, unabashed about the fact that he was only wearing his boxers. “What do you want?”

“Wanna tell me what happened last night?” She asks, brushing past him.

“Last - last night?”

“Last night, yeah.”

“Last night,” Bucky repeats, his mind still trying to catch up while sleep clings to it like a suckling baby.

“There an echo in here or something?” Natasha crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at Bucky. “Last night, what happened with Steve?”

“Nothing?” Bucky runs his hand through his hair, pulling it a big at the back of his neck just to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming or having a nightmare. He wasn’t and shit, that hurt. “If you tell me what’s wrong maybe I’ll-”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Natasha starts, going to his bed and taking a seat, pulling her legs under her with one quick move. “Thor got a call from his girlfriend late last night. Apparently, one of her best illustrators and project managers sent her an email about taking some time off from work.”

Bucky shakes his head confused. “So?”

“His girlfriend is Jane foster, as in Steve’s boss. He said he needed to take a leave from work to ‘figure out what he was doing with his life’. So, again, what the hell happened last night?”

“How do - how do you even know I was with Steve last night?”

“Clint,” Natasha responds, glancing at the door. “He said you snuck in a few minutes after he got back and that you didn’t sound too happy.”

“Clint needs to mind his own business,” Bucky murmurs. He sits next to Natasha, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He can’t remember anything from last night that might have made Steve want to reconsider his entire career, hell, his entire life. The note had been meant for Bucky, there was no way that Steve took anything it said as life changing advice. He turns to the redhead and says, “we had dinner. We talked… it was great. Better than I expected when I showed up at his place.”

Natasha reaches over, putting her hand over Bucky’s, squeezing his hands with a firm and reassuring grip. “What else, James?”

“We - he kissed me. But it wasn’t, like, earth shattering life changing or anything. It was just a damn kiss.” Natasha doesn’t say anything, just wraps her right arm over his shoulders and holds on to his hands with her left hand. He slumps against her, feeling utterly drained and confused about everything. “I gave him Sarah’s letter. The one she gave me before she -”

“Could that have -”

“I don’t know, Nat,” he interrupts softly, letting himself be pulled into her arms in a hug. He presses his face into her shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. “I didn’t think it would change anything. I just wanted him to know why I didn’t try to tell him again after his eighteenth birthday.”

“I know, James, I remember,” she whispers into his hair. “I’m sorry I ruined that night for you. If I’d know about your plan, I wouldn’t have -”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky says pulling back. He shakes his head, looking away from her all-knowing eyes. “It wasn’t the right time to tell him. I don’t even know what I was thinking. It was stupid to think that it would have worked anyway. When Sarah got sick before my birthday and gave me the damned note it kinda confirmed it, ya know? That it wasn’t the right time for _us_. Maybe it will never be...”

“You can’t think that way,” Natasha says firmly, reaching out to grab his jaw and turn his face to look at her. “It might not have been a good time for you two when we were kids but we’re adults now. And this whole thing you two have going on is starting to affect others.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is what you’re gonna do about it now. He’s risking his career because of a note from two decades ago. A note a dying woman wrote. Not to say bad things about Sarah but that woman was dramatic and, at the time, she was high as a kite to manage the pain. So maybe, just maybe, the note you have been using as a crutch to not tell Steve how you feel, might not be the best place to get advice from.”

Bucky chuckles dryly. “Where were you with this advice all those years ago?”

“Taking care of Clint,” Natasha says. “Now, c’mon, Clint is making pancakes and then we are gonna make plans for Operation: Stucky.”

“What?”

“I’ll text Sam,” she says, ignoring Bucky. She stands from the bed and walks away, taking her phone out as she goes. Over her shoulder she calls out, “take a shower and change. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

As it turns out, Operation: Stucky was cut short by one phone call from a very hung-over and yet still lucid Tony Stark. They were right in the middle of figuring out a way to get Steve to not listen to the only piece of Sarah he had left when Natasha’s phone rang.

“Who, even, is up this early?” Clint asks turning around from the griddle where he was making chocolate chip pancakes. “I’m only up cuz Nat scared the shit out of me.”

“Same,” Bucky agrees, pouring more maple syrup onto his blueberry pancakes. To his left Sam hums in agreement too, sipping on some orange juice that Bucky didn’t even know he had in his fridge. Clint must have done some shopping. Good-bye plan to kick out unwanted house guest by not buying groceries, it was good while it lasted, Bucky thinks while eating.

“It’s way too early in the morning for this Tony,” Natasha says into her phone sounding like a very tired all of a sudden. From what Bucky learned yesterday about Tony Stark, he is sure that most of the conversations she has with Tony sound like parent trying to calm down a child on candy. If candy was science, food and alcohol that is.

“Who wants chocolate chip?” Clint asks depositing a tray of pancakes on the table and taking a seat. He slides a few onto his plate with a smile before pouring an insane amount of syrup on top. “I love pancakes,” he says getting his fork and digging in. “They treat me nice and don’t judge me at all. Good Panca-”

Natasha narrows her eyes, dropping her fork on the plate loudly grabbing everyone’s attention. “Yeah. I’ll buzz you in.” She hangs up and says as she gets up from her seat, “put on some pants right now, Clint. Tony is joining us for breakfast.”

“Aw, but pancakes,” Clint protests looking down at his plate and then at Natasha’s retreating form as if debating if the pancakes were worth getting yelled at. They aren’t. He gets up, goes around the table and to the couch to slip into purple pajama bottoms, which he wears only when they have company over. Which is almost never and that’s another reason why Bucky needed to get rid of Clint.

There’s a quick shuffle at the front door, making everyone except Sam turn around. Natasha walks back into view and opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by a loud clap of hands behind her.

“And why wasn’t I invited to this little get together?” Tony says walking up to the table with open arms.

He looks at the open chair left by Clint and then at Clint. Bucky swear he’s lucid right now, he’s had coffee and everything. He sees the two narrow their eyes at one another, measuring each other before both running towards the chair. Of course Tony wins since he was closer and didn’t have a couch to go around but it doesn’t stop Clint from pouting, scratching at the back of his neck as Natasha walks by and pokes him in the chest. She takes a seat and waves him over. It takes him only a second to walk to her, taking up half of the seat, while she reaches over for his plate and sets it in front of him. Sam and Bucky look at each other, then at everyone else in the room, then at each other again.

“I need more coffee,” Bucky says reaching for his mug. “It’s too early for this shit, man.”

“Don’t look at me, man,” Sam says as Bucky stands to get more coffee. “I’m only here for the pancakes and the juice.”

“Yeah, when did we get juice?”

“Well, Bucky, Buck-o my pal, I went shopping,” Clint replies. “After Stark’s party, I got hungry and you didn’t have shit to eat so I went shopping before coming back here. You’re welcome.”

“Don’t you have food at home?” Sam asks, saving Bucky from asking. “Or do you live here now?”

“Don’t you have a bed at home, Sam?” Natasha asks. “Or how’s Steve’s couch treating you?”

Bucky pours himself another cup and one for Tony, bringing both back to the table. He sets it down in front of the billionaire and sits down, going back to eat his now lukewarm pancakes. He ignores the conversation fluttering around him, the yelling from Clint about not being a moocher, you’re a moocher Sam, and Natasha quiet inputs as the two men go at it. Tony sits as quiet as Bucky, with a small smile on his face. His hands, fingernails stained with oil, cradle the mug as he watches.

Yesterday, Bucky had gotten the impression that Tony was a very lonely man. Sure, he had more money than Bucky could ever have a chance to make and people surrounded him. But those people were employees, men and women who he _paid_ to be around him, in his building. He basically paid them to talk to him, to be friendly to him, in a way. The man was a sassy shit, quick witted and, obviously, extremely intelligent and yet, he was awkward around others. Putting up the facade of ‘billionaire-philanthropist’ that people expected of him whenever things got too personal or into a topic he wasn’t particularly knowledgeable in. Like cooking.

Bruce, Tony’s best friend, was an astrophysicist and he had specialties in other fields that Bucky forgot the moment Tony said them in his rapid introduction speech. He was also a part-time chef and the man that Tony had wanted Bucky to meet yesterday. The whole time Bruce tried to teach Bucky how to make possible dishes from scratch rather that coming already pre-cooked, Tony looked fascinated. He remained on the kitchen bar, a tablet in one hand and a laptop opened on the counter, but Bucky could tell he was playing close attention to what they were doing, trying to figure out the mechanics of making the perfect burger.

In the end, Bruce found a way to include Tony in the cooking lesson but it make the man uncomfortable, like a kid learning to cook for the first time. It was adorable but sad the way he kept asking if he was doing things right, if one teaspoon was enough or if it needed a pinch more. Bucky learned more about Tony Stark in that three-hour span than in years of reading about him in the tabloids. When it was over, they celebrated by eating their creations and, by some silent agreement; both Bruce and Bucky praised Tony’s burger even if it was just a bit on the raw side. The smile on the man’s face was worth it.

Now, as Tony takes a sip of the coffee and makes a surprise face before taking a bigger sip, Bucky smiles to himself. Tony might pay the people in his tower, but this was Bucky’s apartment and if Nat didn’t like Tony he wouldn’t be sitting down at the table meeting all her friends - Tony’s friends now.

If only Tony knew what he was getting himself into.

* * *

Bucky takes back his earlier statement about Operation: Stucky when, after breakfast Nat ropes him into helping her with the dishes while the rest of the group picked out a movie on Netflix to watch. Already Bucky knew there was no escape, either talk to Natasha while rinsing and drying or fight with Clint and Sam over which 80’s flick to watch. He was doomed either way so he picks the one that is least likely to end up with broken furniture.

Sam was nice enough to collect all the dishes and putting them in the counter by the sink for Nat and Bucky to wash. Bucky goes to the sink, turning on the hottest water he can stand, which is pretty hot considering how desensitized his hands have become from working around a hot stove all day, and starts to fill the sink up with water. Natasha stands to his left, scraping away any food still on the plates before handing them to Bucky to wash.

They work in silence for a while, Nat scraping into the garbage and Bucky washing and putting them on the dish rack to dry. Behind them, Sam and Clint are debating about whether or not Zootopia is okay for adults to watch while Tony is talking into his phone, changing his afternoon plans by the sound of it. By the time all the dishes are done, including the skillet and pan Clint used to make the food, everyone has quieted down and Zootopia is paused on the television.

Bucky almost thinks he’s about to get away with not talking about Steve again when Natasha announces that there’s no popcorn. Clint looks shocked while Sam and Tony look confused.

“We literally just ate, dude,” Sam tells Clint who is pulling off his pajama pants and frantically searching the living room for some jeans. He finds them behind the television just as Bucky and Nat comes back into the kitchen. Sam looks at Nat and says, “If you boyfriend keeps flashin’ me, Ima think he wants me.”

Tony snorts but watches Clint with intrigue, like he can’t quite figure out what goes on in the brain of the blond. Bucky knows Clint is a smart man - no one can make sense of numbers or make art from a chunk of wood quite like Clint - but acts like a grown child. To outsiders, he looks, acts and even sounds like a kid but, having grown up with him, Bucky knows that just as much of a facade as Tony’s arrogance.

Still, there are some moments where Bucky wonders if Clint is a genius with a plan or if he’s making stuff up as he goes. Jumping over the sofa like a graceful gazelle is not one of his better moments, not when he ends up almost falling to the ground, only Natasha’s firm grip keeping him from meeting his doom in the middle of Bucky’s apartment.

Clint pulls Natasha towards the door and starts to put on his shoes, which are by the side of the door carefully out of the way. When no one but Natasha moves, he comes back to the living room and, waving his arms frantically, says, “family shopping time, guys! _Andale_! _Beeil dich!_ Nat, how do you say hurry up in Russian?”

“Поторапливаться,” she calls back.

Clint blinks and says, “what she said. Now let’s go!”

Reluctantly Sam, Bucky and Tony make their way to the door. They put on their shoes and head out, following Clint down the stairs and out the front door. Tony offers to call a car to take them to the store but Clint declines, saying the store was only a few blocks away. Besides, they could stop by Avenger’s on their way back and get some pizza.

Natasha slows down, letting everyone pass her until she and Bucky hold up the end, just a little ways back from the three men who are chatting about what to buy.

“Tony’s enjoying himself,” Bucky says after a moment. “I thought Stark parties were all day and all night.”

“Usually are,” Natasha nods. “He … likes Clint for some reason, told me so last night while downing an expensive scotch like it was water. He also likes that we don’t treat him like a celebrity. He’s been having trouble working out the kinks for one of his new projects. Remember how I told you he likes to have pet projects?”

“I thought remodeling Shield was his project?”

“That’s one of them. He’s also looking into funding a VA center but he’s having trouble convincing people that he isn’t doing it for the publicity or for charity. He’s actually invested in helping vets but all anyone sees is Tony Stark, billionaire and former warmonger. Why would he want to help our vets now after all the damage his weapons caused in the past?”

“Well, I’m glad we’re helping in some way. Maybe we should tell him about Sam working at the VA. Maybe if he can get some vets to talk to Tony, it might help him some?”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to Sam about it and see what he thinks. It might do Tony some good to actually speak with vets instead of assuming what their needs might be.”

“So,” Natasha says as they cross the street. They are a block away from Steve’s place, the store being a few blocks after his apartment. “Are we gonna talk to him about it or not?”

“About what, Nat? If he wants to take a break from his stressful job, that’s his choice. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“You don’t think it’s a little suspicious? You guys talk for the first time in weeks, you have a nice quiet dinner and then a few hours later, he’s taking off from work to think about his life choices?”

“He’s got vacation time,” Bucky protests. “He never takes time off and maybe he thought it was time. He said work hadn’t been going well lately so maybe he wants to work on his art for a while and not some crappy designs for companies.”

“Maybe,” Natasha agrees. “But I still think you should check in with him. And, oh look, we just happen to be by his apartment right now.”

“He’s probably not home or still asleep.”

“He’s not, I checked.”

They stop walking, Natasha crosses her hands over her chest and Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “You planned this, didn’t you? There’s popcorn in my house, isn’t there? You just knew Clint would want to go to the store if we ran out of popcorn.”

“He does love eating it when watching a movie,” Natasha says with a smile. “He didn’t even remember to turn off the TV before leaving.”

Bucky sighs, knowing he’s been beat. It’s too late to turn back, not with the guys in the front stopping and looking back confused. Steve’s place is just a few doors down from where they stand now and all he would have to do is go up the stairs and ring the doorbell. He didn’t even have to stay for long, just enough to ask Steve what the hell he was thinking. They didn’t even have to talk about last night. Or bring up the fact that Bucky cried for almost an hour before falling asleep, unable to stop thinking about all the events that had led up to that moment in time. All the if’s/and’s/but’s drowning him, pulling air from his lungs until he was choking against the door frame, his head between his knees.

Steve didn’t have to know that, Bucky just had to ask if he was okay. That’s it. That’s all it had to be.

“What do I even say?”

“That’s up to you,” Natasha answers. “We’ll go to Avengers, order some pizza’s while we go to the store and pick you up on the way. Say… an hour? That should be plenty of time to ask about work, or you know, talk about anything else that might be bothering you.”

“I - yeah.” Bucky follows Natasha when she starts to walk, catching up to Clint, Sam and Tony. She tells them the plan, saying Bucky is going to go up and see if Steve’s feeling okay. Sam and Clint give her a look but they say goodbye to Bucky, walking with him to Steve’s door and leaving once he makes it up the stoop. “Here goes nothing.”

* * *

Steve’s just about to start sketching when his doorbell rings. He checks his phone but there are no messages and he isn’t expecting anyone today. He really just wanted to spend the day by himself watching some Bob Ross videos and letting the man’s greatness fill him with inspiration. He’d dug out his old sketchbooks late last night after reading the letter a few dozen times more. Pages and pages filled with sharp jawlines, aquiline noses and steel eyes dating all the way back to high school.

So far, in a box filled with his old art stuff, he found three books filled with such drawings and sure, there was the occasional pretty picture of flowers or a quick sketch of his neighborhood, but it was mostly Bucky who was captured in their pages. He’d been so stupid to have never realized just how much he loved the man.

He pushes himself off the kitchen table, pausing the video in his laptop and goes to the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Steve. Buzz me in will ya?” Bucky says cheerfully from the other side.

“Do you know what time it is?” Steve asks checking his phone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep right now?”

“You callin’ me lazy, punk?”

“You’re just never up before noon unless you have to be,” Steve says with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t I just drop by a friends house unannounced anymore? The laws of friendship change when I wasn’t lookin’?”

Steve’s heart rabbits at being called friend. He thought that he might have lost that privilege a few weeks ago when… he presses the buzzer and unlocks his door before his mind starts to wonder. He opens the door, waiting for Bucky just outside in the hall. When Bucky comes up the stairs, hood over his head and wearing batman pajama pants, he suppresses a laugh.

“What?” Bucky asks, walking past him and into the apartment. He pulls off his hood and starts to take off his shoes but thinks better of it. Steve closes the door and bites his lower lip, following Bucky into the dining room. If he isn’t taking off his shoes then he must not be staying long. Bucky runs his hands through his hair and says, “We’re having pizza and movies at my place.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, everyone is on their way to get snacks and stuff,” Bucky says with a shrug. “I’m here to drag you along, so go get ready.”

“Isn’t tonight the Stark party?” Steve asks going to the table. He’s in his comfort clothes - baggy pants and soft long-sleeve shirt - but it would only take him a second to change. The whole time he’s putting his sketchbooks away, shutting off his laptop and checking the charge on his phone, he can feel Bucky’s eyes on him. “Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, swallowing. “Tony is actually joining us for the movie. He’s with Nat, Clint and Sam.”

Steve blinks. “Are you telling me that Tony Stark, _the_ Tony Stark, is shopping at our local grocery store and he’s going to be watching a movie on your tiny as hell television?”

“At least I have a TV!” Bucky points to Steve’s laptop. “You watch all your shows weeks later and on your laptop. Anyway, he didn’t seem to mind when he was fighting over the movie with Clint.”

“Then it’s either gonna be the best movie ever or the worst,” Steve nods. He points over his shoulder and goes off to change after an understanding nod from Bucky.

He changes into a pair of jeans and a red Henley, running a bit of product through his hair, checking his appearance on his way out of the room. Good thing he’d showered after his run this morning. He looks around his room, making sure he’s gotten everything - keys, wallet, money - from his dresser before turning off the light and leaving the room.

He shuffles back to the living room, his socks sliding on the floor a bit in his hurry. Bucky is leaning forward on the table looking through Steve’s sketchbooks, his left hand tracing something on the page he was looking at. Steve watched him for a second - the way his hair falls forward, cradling his face, his mouth agape, tongue just barely peeking out - he’s goddamn gorgeous and it makes him itchy with the need to sit down and draw him as he is right now.

“Hey,” he whispers, a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, hey! Sorry. I got curious,” Bucky says closing the book closed, looking away as if caught doing something wrong. There’s a pink blush just barely noticeable on his cheekbones, which only makes Steve smile even more as he approaches. “Haven't seen one of those in your hands for a while. Thinking about getting back into art?”

“I do art for work, you know. But, um, yeah. Dug out all my old sketchbooks from the back of my closet, trying to find my muse.”

“Is - did it work?”

“I don't think so. Not yet at least.” Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Haven’t found my muse yet.” _Although I think he’s standing right here..._

“Is that why you're taking vacation time?”

Steve blinks. “How did you -”

“Natasha.”

“That's not why you're here, is it?” Steve swallows. Bucky looks away, opening his mouth as if to say something but Steve beats him to it. “You don't have to invite me over if that's all you wanted to know.”

“That's not why I'm here. It’s not.”

“You're a shit liar, Buck,” Steve scoffs.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky admits. “Natasha is worried about you. She dragged me out of bed at six in the morning just to make sure I didn’t fuck your life even more.”

“She could’ve asked me herself. Hell, you could’ve asked me instead of doing this charade.”

“This isn’t a charade,” Bucky insists, rounding the table and walking right up to Steve. “It might have been her idea for me to come over but it doesn’t mean it was a bad one.”

Steve bites his lower lip and asks, “Do you want me there?”

“I want you to come to this stupid movie thing and save me from whatever shit Clint has planned,” Bucky says firmly. “Please save me from whatever initiation he and Sam are gonna put Tony under before they officially become BFFs.”

“Okay,” Steve decides. “Fine. But if the cheese can comes out, I’m out.”

* * *

They head out of Steve’s place a few minutes later, walking a few blocks over to meet everyone at Avengers Pizzeria. As always, there is only a few people in the booths eating large slices of pizza. Steve and Bucky walk-in just as Phil exits the kitchen through the two double doors that separate the front from the employee only area. Phil’s eyes go wide when he sees them and he gives Steve a pointed look that says ‘see I told you it would all work out’ as he walks to the counter.

Steve tries to shake his head, to tell Phil through some form of telepathy that no, things aren’t really great. That the only reason Steve is here right now instead of watching Bob Ross paint a gorgeous meadow is because Natasha likes to interfere in people’s business. Alas, neither Phil nor Steve have that ability so Steve is stuck hoping that Phil won’t say anything and completely ignore wh-

“Steve, Bucky, how are my two favorite customers?” Phil asks leaning against the counter. “I see you two have made up. That’s great both for you and for me. I won the bet.”

“Bet?” Bucky squeaks from Steve’s left. “What bet?”

“How long it would take you to get your heads outta your asses,” Phil fills in with a nod. He looks between Steve and Bucky and seems to finally - goddamnit it took long enough - to notice the awkwardness in their shoulders. “Or maybe not.”

Steve shakes his head and looks away, trying to occupy his mind by reading the menu off the boards on the wall behind Phil. He’s read the damned thing a hundred times, can probably name all the toppings listed and their prices but it seems to placate them enough to go of to the side and talk. Steve ignores the pit in his stomach, the one that says that Bucky is telling Phil that shit isn’t right between them. That this is just pity pizza and to please hurry so he can get rid of Steve already.

How did things go sour so quickly, he wonders. One moment they’re having fun making dinner and the next things are as awkward as they were when Steve still had the engagement ring in his pocket ready to share with Bucky his plans for the future.

“It’ll be a few more minutes,” Phil says loud enough to snap Steve out of his head. “The pizza’s are ready, just waiting on the breadsticks and garlic bread. How many people you guys having over? Clint ordered enough for at least a small army. Gave me some fancy credit card to charge it to.”

“That’s probably Tony’s,” Bucky answers. “It’s just… six of us, as far as I know.”

“Then I guess everyone is getting their own pizzas,” Phil says with a shrug. “That boy could probably put away most of them, what am I saying. He’s a never ending pit.”

“That’s Clint,” Bucky says turning to Steve. “Right, punk?”

“Um, y-yeah that’s, um, totally him,” Steve stammers out. Phil takes that as his queue to leave, walking from behind the counter to the dining area to wipe some tabletops. Steve shakes his head, feeling Bucky’s eyes on him but ignoring him right up until he feels a hand on his arm.

“You alright?”

Steve hums and returns to reading the menu. Bucky’s hand drops after a moment, taking out his phone and fiddling with it while Steve continues to ignore the growing pain in his chest. He should just tell Bucky, just spit it out before he can chicken out again. He should just say _it_ , whatever it is that’s making his throat close up at the thought of spending the next few hours in close proximity to him. God, he’s a nervous train wreck.

“I think I might go back to school,” Steve says. Bucky stops texting, his thumbs hovering over the smooth glass of his phone, and looks up at him. Steve smiles shyly and adds, “I _want_ to go back to art school.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, pocketing his phone and turning to look at Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “I - I’m tired of working in an office, of having clients ask the same questions over and over again no matter what the project. I’m tired of having to explain the simplest of things to overpaid douchebags whose suits cost more than what I make in a year.”

“What do you wanna do then?”

“Maybe open an art gallery? Or maybe teach art? Something that doesn’t include sitting behind a desk.”

Bucky nods his head, looking down at the floor between them for a pause. When he looks up, the look he gives Steve takes his breath away. “Okay. Do it. Go to art school. Do what you gotta do to be happy.”

“I - thanks, Buck. You’re the only person I’ve told. I haven’t even thought it through -”

“Sounds pretty thought out to me,” Bucky interrupts. “And, hey, you already have one interested buyer. Tony Stark commissioned you, didn’t he? Maybe if he likes your work, he’ll buy your stuff in the future.”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I’m quite at that level. He’s bought some pretty expensive art pieces in the past from well-known galleries. Can’t expect him to buy something from some amateur.” Steve shakes his head. “I can’t be too optimistic. I’ve got some money saved up but tuition is gonna suck.”

“Well, pal,” Bucky says, “if you ever need money, all you have to do is ask.”

A bell from behind the double doors saves Steve from answering. Phil rushes past them and comes back with five pizza boxes before going back. He returns a second time with two platters and two bags. He sets them all on the counter and shrugs. Steve looks at Bucky who gives a dry laugh. He holds up a finger and takes out his phone.

“Where are you guys? Great. Food’s ready and I need more hands to carry this buffet. Send in Clint, the bastard.” Bucky ends the call and says to Steve, “They should be up front in a few.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Clint and Sam enter Avengers Pizzeria. Clint grins, rubbing his hands together and going to the counter. He greets Phil before taking all the boxes in his arms and walking out without another word. Sam shakes his head and takes the bags, leaving Steve and Bucky with the two large platters.

“Oh, hey, Bucky?” Phil calls out before they exit, both men turning to see him as he walks over to them by the door. “That guy you were with a few days ago came by asking for ya. I told him I hadn’t seen you but he seemed pretty insistent on talking to you. Might wanna take care of that before … you know.”

“Yeah, um, thanks,” Bucky swallows. “I’ll do that.”

Brock was looking for Bucky? If they were an item, wouldn’t Brock have Bucky’s number or know how to get in contact with him rather than just going to the last place they had dinner at? Steve blinks as he follows Bucky out of Avengers and they join the horde of thirty-year olds walking down the street with bags of food in their arms. Even Tony Stark, dressed sharply in a suit, was carrying a bag.

Bucky and Steve took up the rear with Tony and Natasha at the center and Clint and Sam at the front, leading the pack to doom. Even from a few feet away, Steve can head Sam trying to convince Clint to leave the pizza alone, that it was only a few blocks away and that if he dropped them all while attempting to eat a slice, he would kill him. It must have worked because Clint stops fidgeting and starts, instead, to walk faster, prompting everyone else to speed up to.

Everyone except Bucky.

“Hey, look, about what Phil said -”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Steve interrupts, shaking his head.

“I think I do,” Bucky says. If he hadn’t been holding a hot platter, Steve is sure he would have ran his hand through his hair. “I - I went out on a few, uh, well, I guess you can call them dates with this guy, Brock. That was before we started to talk again, before things got better between us.”

“Are they?” Steve wonders. “Are things better between us?”

Bucky stops walking, looking down at the ground for a second before meeting Steve’s eyes, his brows furrowed. “I - I thought they were. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Buck. I don’t know.”

“Hey!” Natasha yells from half a block away. “Hurry up!”

Steve clenches his jaw and walks a little bit faster, leaving Bucky trailing behind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I noticed that I messed up on the timeline in the last two chapters. Sarah died after Bucky's 20th birthday, not 19th. Let me know if you notice any continuity issues, sometimes my muse confuses things.)


	10. Cuddles and Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang watches movies, eat lots of food and then get ready to party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague spoilers for Zootopia, Tyke: Elephant Outlaw, and the South Korean film Flu. Slight trigger warning for a mild anxiety/panic attack right after the two horizontal lines.

Bucky walks slowly behind the rest of the group, trying to process what the hell just happened. Steve’s words hit a part of him that was still holding on to hope. A part of him that wasn’t scared, that was actually optimistic, that had driven him to Steve’s apartment last night, that had remained steadfast even after weeks of nothing. But was he wrong?

It was the same thoughts he felt when their initial fallout started, a state of confusion and self doubt. Everything had been going well, he should have known something would fall apart. Even with Natasha’s meddling Bucky had been the one to fuck it up. It wasn't Phil’s fault, as far as the man knew Bucky and Steve just hadn't been in his restaurant for a while. It wasn't his fault that he's said the B word that Bucky had been trying to avoid. 

Brock was looking for him, that was good to know. He'd probably been to Shield and saw that Bucky had been off yesterday and decided to go ask at the place where they'd gone on their… get together? Date? Bucky wasn't sure what to label “going to the same place with the same guy two days in a row because he felt guilty about yelling at him”. Was that a date? That wasn't what a relationship was like. Hell, they hadn't even exchanged numbers. And when Brock had leaned in to kiss him, Bucky had ducked his head to the side. The whole affair was awkward and, of Bucky was true to himself, it felt wrong. Beyond wrong. Like he was cheating on someone else by seeing Brock. But he wasn't. He didn't have anyone else in his life.

_ Are they? Are things better between us? _

Yes, damnit. Things were better. 

Maybe it was the mention of Brock, an unknown to Steve. Maybe he thought Bucky was moving on and was only trying to patch things up because he felt guilty. Maybe, just maybe, a small part of Bucky’s mind whispers, he’s jealous. 

Bucky shakes his head looking up to see his building up ahead. The rest of the gang is already loitering on the stairs, opening bags and deciding who would do what when they got up to his place. Steve stands on the side of the door, looking solemnly at the floor, as Bucky bypasses them on the stairs and goes to open the door. He should comes clean about Brock, if Steve thinks that Bucky’s hiding something, coming clean could help ease things because Bucky is  _not_ hiding Brock. 

There is nothing to hide. Nothing has happened between them, nothing is  _ going _ to happen between them. He doesn't want Brock. He wants… he isn’t sure anymore, really, but it isn’t Brock that’s for damn sure.

“We’ve gotta talk,” Bucky tells Steve as he unlocks the door. “There's something I have to tell you.”

Steve nods, his eyes not looking up from the floor. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Don't sound so happy about it.”

He opens the door, holding it until everyone gets up from the steps and makes their way inside. Clint is up first, practically running through the door and up the stairs, with everyone else following. Steve is the last to go up, staying behind holding the platter in one hand while Bucky locks the door. 

“Bucky!” A voice - Clint - calls from a few floors up. “Hurry up! Pizza is getting cold!” 

“Coming!” Bucky yells back, nodding his head towards the stairs at Steve who goes up first. Bucky tries his best not to freak out the closer they get to his place. He’s gonna have to tell Steve eventually, he just didn’t think he would have to tell him now about Brock, not when Bucky has yet to tell Brock that things between weren’t going anywhere. “Fuck…”

“Buck, you okay?” Steve asks when they reach Bucky’s floor. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just not looking forward to the mess Clint’s gonna leave with all this food,” he lies with a small smile.

“It’s still early, he’ll probably want more food later too,” Steve teases. “He’s like a garbage disposal.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bucky says, walking to his apartment where everyone is standing. He blinks and looks at Clint, “you didn’t bring your key?”

Everyone turns to look at Clint whose eyes get wide as the realisation hits him. He balances the pizza boxes in one hand, the boxes tipping slightly to the left, and stuffs his hand in his pocket. “Found it!”

“Serious?” Sam asks. “We coulda been eating already, dude.”

“Hey, I don’t live here!”

“You kinda do,” Bucky says. “You came home with me one day and just never left.”

“Like a stray puppy,” Natasha interjects with a smirk. 

Clint opens the door, pushing it open with the tip of his shoe, and everyone goes inside. They put the food on the table and then go about organizing everything. Sam gets the plates and cups; Natasha makes sure everything is still hot; Steve opens the bags of chips and dumps them into large bowls; Tony stands on the sidelines until Natasha tells him to move the furniture in the living room to fit everyone. His eyes light up, like he’s been handed a difficult task and goes to it, hands in front of him measuring everything. Bucky runs his hand through his hair, leaning against the wall watching everyone move around. 

_So,_ he thinks, _this is what family_ _is like._

A few minutes later, all the food is piled on coffee table and everyone is sat at a ‘perfect viewing’ distance as Tony called it. Natasha and Bucky sit on the couch, their legs tucked under them. Steve sat on the floor next to Bucky and Clint on the floor next to Natasha, her hand in his hair. Sam and Tony are sat on two chairs on either side of the couch, Tony on Natasha’s side and Sam on Bucky’s, with the television a few feet in front of them and a multitude of food laid out.

Clint leans forward, turning the playstation on and selecting Netflix on the screen. It takes a few seconds for it to load, Bucky’s internet connection not being the best, and then a few more to find the movie. Everyone piles their plates with food and fills their cups with soda.

“Ready?” Clint asks, looking around at everyone. “Ima call it now and say Bucky is gonna cry.”

“What?” Bucky protests. “Nah! If anyone here is gonna cry over a kiddie movie, it’s Steve.”

“Wow,” Steve says looking up at Bucky, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence there, buddy.”

“Just sayin’. You cried during Lilo and Stitch.”

“Jesus Christ, that was a decade ago. Let it go, Buck.” Steve shakes his head. “Anyway, if anyone is gonna cry today it's gonna be Sam. He cried over an elephant documentary last week.”

“Hey, now!” Sam yells. “Tyke did not deserve to be gunned down in the middle of the street in Hawaii, alright? Of course I cried!”

“Can we not talk about dead animals?” Natasha says firmly. “Foods getting cold and Clint still needs to get a tux for tonight.”

“I don't wanna,” Clint mumbles. He turns to Tony and asks, “why does your shindig require fancy clothes?”

“I-” 

“Say nothing, Tony. He just wants to get out of going shopping.” Natasha runs her fingers through Clint's hair, pulling his head back slightly. She leans down and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I need to get my dress from the dry cleaners and you are gonna rent a tux. Or else Bucky's gonna have a permanent roommate.”

Bucky reaches over and playfully slaps Clint's arm. He points a finger and at him and says, “you're getting that tux even if I have to drag you there myself.”

Everyone laughs, except Tony who looks confused and Clint who pouts. 

Eventually they watch the movie, settling in after Steve manages to pry the controller from Clint’s greasy hands. After half an hour, Bucky begins to feel his legs fall asleep and adjust his legs, untucking them from under himself and carefully sitting on the couch correctly. Almost immediately, he feels Steve’s arm wrap itself around Bucky’s left leg, his hand on his knee. It was something they used to do as kids whenever they watched a scary movie. An action that turned into a habit.

Bucky blinks, the slice of pizza he was about to bite into hanging a few inches away from his face when he feels the movement of Steve’s arm. He tenses for a brief moment, he feels Steve tense too, sees his shoulders go still as if he just realized what he'd done. Bucky forces himself to relax, to chill the fuck out, this was just something they'd always done. No reason to get all bent out of shape for. It was a Bucky-and-Steve thing. 

He feels a finger poke his right arm and turns to see Natasha with a worrying look on her face. She looks down at Steve’s hand on Bucky’s knee, raising one eyebrow in question. Bucky shrugs and turns back to the movie, taking a bite of the pizza and finally letting himself relax. He feels Steve move closer to him, feels his body slouch as if all the energy had been drained from his body.

It takes all of Bucky’s strength not to move for the next hour. He concentrates on the movie and on finishing the food on his plate at a reasonable pace. Already Clint’s pushed his plate aside in favor of pulling a pizza box to his lap and using that as a plate instead. 

Bucky shakes his head when Clint tries to reach for the bags of chips to dump onto the five slices left in the box. When he doesn't reach, he makes a grabby motion with his hands like a child asking for his favorite toy. Steve, engrossed in the movie but unable to concentrate when there's a hand in his peripheral, unwraps his arm from Bucky and moves to pass Clint what he wants. 

His leg doesn't miss the pressure from Steve’s arm, nope not at all. His leg doesn't feel cold all of a sudden, there's just a draft. Bucky doesn't feel like he's lost his anchor and is floating at sea with a tiny row boat as his only companion. That would be ridiculous. And yet…

Once that’s all settled, both Bucky’s internal struggle and Clinton's own struggle with balancing a box of food on his lap, everyone goes back to watching Zootopia. Steve arm stays away from Bucky for the rest of the movie.

* * *

It's well past noon when the debate starts: another movie or time for clean-up?

Another movie wins 4-2, Natasha and Sam voting for clean-up. Either way, everyone gets up to stretch their limbs and take turns going to the bathroom. Clint carefully places his pizza box turned plate on the coffee table and runs to the bathroom, pushing past Sam just as he is reaching the door. Sam just laughs, used to Clint’s antics, and leans against the wall forming a line. 

Bucky gets up from the couch, stretching his arms over his head until there's a nice pop in his joints. Steve, who’s taken Sam’s seat, sitting on Bucky’s left, leans to the side and asks softly, “did you think that a movie about anthropomorphised animals was meant to be so political? Cuz I didn’t expect it at all.”

That question started an entire conversation that, without Natasha’s cool head and scary ninja skills, almost led to blood shed as Tony and Steve fought over whether generalizations of an entire race or group were wrong or justified in certain cases. Steve, self-righteous and in perfect fighting form, stood up to his full terrifying height and loomed over Tony’s smaller frame when the older man suggested that, in some cases, generalizations could save lives. 

“No,” Steve says firmly. “We cannot blame an entire groups for the actions of a few.”

“A few?” Tony asks, pointing at the screen where Zootopia was still displayed. “I don't think half a dozen is a few. Hell, she was right in that press conference. Predators will always revert back to being wild. Predators are biologically built to -”

“That's bull and you know it,” Steve interrupts through clenched teeth. “You can't possibly believe that. And all she did was scare civilians. Plus she took it back once she figured out what was actually happening.”

“Alright, boys,” Natasha says for the third time. She wedges herself between them, putting a hand on Steve’s chest to push him away and turning to Tony. “If you two don't calm down, I'll have to kick both your asses. And I rather not do that so sit down and shut up.”

Both men looked at Natasha, her calm but slightly terrifying presence was enough to calm them down. They step away from each other, each taking a seat at opposite sides of the room just as Clint and Sam walk back in from the bathroom. They look at the living room and at each other and the back at everyone sitting down.

“What we miss?” Sam asks walking towards them. 

Bucky shrugs and mumbles, “you don't wanna know, trust me.”

* * *

The second movie fares better, there isn't much to fight over when everyone is busy reading the South Korean subtitles.  _ Flu _ doesn't start off great, mostly Natasha and Tony talking about why it would or would not be possible for such a thing to happen until Sam, Bucky and Clint shush them while Steve is too engrossed with the subtitles to look away.

Halfway through the movie, with Sam sitting between him and Nat, Bucky leans his head to the side on the arms rest. He doesn't expect anything, certainly not to feel fingers threading through his hair lulling him to sleep. He misses most of the movie, the fingers in his hair relaxing him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. 

He knows who’s hand is caressing his head, he knows damned well. And he isn't gonna let that stop him from enjoying it. If Steve wanted to go do this, without prompt, then Bucky was damn well gonna let him and enjoy the hell out of it. Who knows what would happen later today when they finally got to talk, when Bucky tells him about Brock. So many things could happen and Bucky isn't about to pull away when Steve was feeling so… cuddly.

He ends up falling asleep, even through the dramatic music and the gasps of terror from Clint and Sam who are now sitting on the floor as close to the television as they can be without blocking the view. He feels his legs being pulled by Natasha and set on her lap, her cool hands rubbing his feet through his socks. All combined, Natasha’s foot massage and Steve’s hand through his hair, pulled Bucky into one of the best naps of existence.

* * *

He gets woke up by a gentle poke to his arm. He stirs, his mind still deep inside a dream, pushing the hand away and turning on his side. He sways, almost tipping over the edge of the couch, and the hand grips his forearm to stop him from completely falling. Bucky groans, still insistent on continuing his dream.

“Bucky, wake up!” The gentle poking has turned into a full slap on his arm. The pain, constant from several slaps, jolts him out of the kitchen of his dreams and into the waking world. He opens his eyes to see Clint’s face just inches from his own. “Finally! Welcome back Sleeping Beauty!”

“Fuck you,” Bucky groans out, pushing Clint’s face away with the palm of his hand. 

“No can do, Buckaroo,” Clint replies as he steps away. “I'm a taken man.”

Bucky sits up, rubbing his eyes and then stretching his aching muscles. Someone put a pillow under his head while he was sleeping and his favorite blanket over him both of which were now on the floor, having fallen down when Bucky stirred. He must have looked confused because Clint leans down, helping him unravel the blanket from around his legs and says, “Steve.”

Bucky nods. Of course Steve would make sure he was -

“How long was I out?”

“It's almost five so … couple of hours,” Clint shrugs. He gets the blanket, folding it neatly, and leaves the room without another word.

“Shit,” Bucky hisses. They were supposed to talk, goddamit. And now, judging by how quiet it was in the apartment, everyone was gone. Steve was gone and Bucky had fallen asleep like some sleep deprived college kid or something. Now he’s going to have to wait to talk to Steve or do it at the party tonight while being surrounded by people. “Fuck.”

Clint returns with Natasha in tow who is sporting a wicked scowl and holding a coat hanger. Clint shrugs at Bucky and walks to the kitchen, leaving Natasha to walk over to the couch and sit down. 

She hands him the hanger and says, “we got one for you when we were out getting Clint all set up. Steve said you’d look good in it.”

“Steve… picked out my suit?” Bucky asks opening the bag by pulling the zipper down. He looks inside, seeing the rich black material of the suit and chuckles when he reaches in to touch it. “The bastard got me a nice suit.”

“He said the dark color would make your eyes pop,” Clint comments as he comes around the couch to sit on the other side of Bucky. He’s got a slice of reheated pizza dangling from his hands which Natasha snatches up and walks away with. “Aw, Nat, why?”

Natasha narrows her eyes at him from the kitchen and says, “last time you and pizza went anywhere near a suit, there were grease stains on the pant leg that we had to pay for to get out before returning it. Not happening again.”

“But I’m hungry and he’s not ready yet!” 

“We’ve got a car coming to pick us up at six,” Natasha says. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

It wasn’t the best decision to leave, Steve knows that now, but he didn’t have another choice not when things got so heavy. It was like his hands had a mind of their own as they weaved through Bucky’s hair. It felt familiar, comforting. Steve runs his hand over his face, breathing in deeply. He’s washed his hands a half dozen times since he left Bucky’s place but he can still smell his shampoo, the same shampoo that he’d been using since high school – green apple and cinnamon. He breathes in deeply and then chuckles to himself.  He feels pathetic, god he feels like a damn fool sitting in his kitchen table smelling his hands and laughing to himself.

He’s got his suit all laid clean and ready, just hanging off his closet door waiting to be put on. He even polished his shoes for the first time in a long time; his arms still ached from the repetitive motions it took to make them shiny enough for a Stark party.

Steve still can’t believe he spent the day hanging out with Tony Stark. He spent hours watching movies, eating pizza from cheapest pizza place nearby and he even had a rowdy discussion about the themes of Zootopia. Hell, he’d almost punched the arrogant man in the face. If Natasha hadn’t stepped between them then he might have gotten a little closer to the shorter man. No, he wouldn’t have lost his temper, Bucky wouldn’t have let it go that far, but the need to punch him would have been more present than it had been when he stood up to face Stark. Natasha was terrifying but he didn’t want to get under Bucky’s skin.

Bucky seemed to like Stark enough as did the rest of them. Clint even promoted the man to Best Friend #6 instead of just Natasha’s Boss. Even Sam who was very down to earth and humble to a fault liked that the simplest of things bothered Stark. He found him endearing, Sam had told Steve as they headed home, like a cool teacher not knowing how to use Google. Except Stark probably owned Google - no, he was probably rich enough to own his own version of Google.

Steve shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch and going to the bathroom. He washes his face and re-brushes his teeth. He eyes his hair, wondering if he should run some product through it. He decides that yeah, he should probably look his very best in front of his new boss (his _only_ boss since he took leave from his actual job) and reaches for the jar of gel, running some through his hair, and combing it all back. He’s got a five o’clock shadow going but it’s too late now to shave so he leaves the bathroom and goes to his room. At least he won’t have a full on beard, beards make him look like a lumberjack or so Clint told him last year when he tried to grow on. They were also itchy and he tended to scratch at it from being unaccustomed to having one.

He opens his closet door and unzips the suit bag. He should have tried it on before today but the last few days have had him for a whirl. He still doesn’t quite feel up to spending the night surrounded by strangers. No, not strangers, they were Bucky’s co-workers, his friends, and the ones that he never shared with Steve. Which, up until right now, Steve had been fine with because it’s not like they shared everything – Bucky and he. They lived separate lives – very different, separate lives if the last few weeks had been any indication – and it had never been a problem until Steve is face-to-face with a room full of strangers.

That’s not even what’s bothering him. He’d left without saying bye to Bucky. He’s gone with Sam, Clint and Natasha to pick out Bucky’s suit.  _ He _ had picked out what Bucky would be wearing tonight. He had known Bucky’s measurements off the top of his head like they were his phone number or something and if that wasn’t the cherry on the freaking Sundae he’d also picked out something he knew would complement not only Bucky’s pale skin but his startling blue eyes too. And now, in about an hour, Steve would have to look into those eyes with the knowledge that he’d picked out his clothes. He’s stuck between feeling like a creep for picking out Bucky’s suit and feeling hot under the collar for the exact reason. If Bucky looks good tonight, it would be because of Steve.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he pulls out his own suit to change into.

The longer he thought about Bucky the more he came to realise how strong his feelings towards the man actually were. He wasn’t sure which was more worrisome: the fact that he wanted Bucky now more than ever or that he wanted to run away and never bee seen again. They have to talk tonight; there is no getting out of it. There are some things Steve needs to get off his chest, especially after what he’d felt this afternoon as he carted his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

His hands itch to do it again. No, they itch to find out if Bucky would make a sound if he were to grab a handful of hair and pull. Would he groan, his eyes filling with need? Or would he hate it and hiss, pushing away from the touch?

Clearly Steve has some issues, which he knows very well. But at least he’d reached a conclusion, one that he remembered making in high school before everything changed. He had feelings for Bucky he knows that now and he acknowledges that that is a fact in his life and no longer a question.

Before his mom died, before even the party that Bucky remembers so well that Steve still only has vague memories off, he had reached the same conclusion and it had freaked him out. How could he like with his best friend? How could he have anything other than familial love for Bucky?

He tried to convince himself that he was confusing everything, that what he felt wasn’t anything else than friendship, deep and earnest. They were as close as brothers. It wasn’t just Steve and Bucky, best friends. It was SteveAndBucky, said in one breath because where Bucky was; Steve wasn’t too far behind and vice versa. They were ying and yang growing up, thick as thieves and partners in crime.

But then puberty had hit Bucky and turned him from a skinny kid just a few inches taller than Steve to a handsome man almost a foot taller and with the cheekbones structure that would have any girl swoon from miles away. It was then that Steve started to question his feelings. It wasn’t normal, he thought at the time, to look at your best friend the way that he looked at girls. He couldn’t help to look at Bucky’s impressive form, especially when he made the basketball team their junior year of high school. It wasn’t his fault that Bucky was lithe and his body taut and he, as an artist, would find inspiration in watching him practice after school. He’d filled out a few notebooks that year, all filled with Bucky’s form in various positions around a basketball court.

Steve had remained the same, growing only slightly until after his eighteenth birthday when Mother Nature finally allowed him a growth spurt that shot Steve to a height of six feet. After his mother died, he’d taken his anger and sadness out on a punching bag. He even joined a gym and started to bulk-up much to Bucky’s amusement. Still, even with all the muscle Steve gained after hours at the gym, Bucky looked like a Greek god next to him. It was then that he decided that the feelings he’d kept to himself for years were not enough to tell Bucky how he felt. Not when Bucky practically had a different girl hanging of his arm every week.

He thought he could handle feeling this indefinable feeling towards Bucky that he could keep it under control until it went away. And it did, for a long time. It took reading Sarah’s note, the note his mother wrote to Bucky on her deathbed, to bring back everything he had felt before. To remind him that, while Bucky had been hiding his feelings for Steve for sixteen years, Steve had also been hiding, and maybe it was time to stop.

So, as he buttons up the buttons of his vest, he decides he’s going to come clean to Bucky. He’s going to allow himself to finally give in, to feel the love that he’s always known he felt for Bucky. He’s going to come clean to Bucky and then let the man choose whether or not they do something about how they feel about each other or not.

“It’s about damn time,” Sam says, startling Steve. “I’ve been calling your phone for the last ten minutes, man.”

“Sorry, I got lost a little distracted.”

“Oh yeah? You seen yourself in the mirror then? Cuz you lookin’ great.” He walks into the room, grabbing Steve’s jacket from the bed and handing it to him. Sam takes a step back and looks at him from head to toe. “Man, Bucky’s not gonna know what hit him when he sees you. You even got that vest thing that makes your waist look all tiny.”

“What?” Steve says, chuckling. “Are you making fun of my vest or complementing me?”

“Whichever one makes you feel better,” Sam replies with a toothy smile. “No, but seriously, you look great man.”

“Thanks. You too. I didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“Excuse you. I, unlike someone I know, am an actual adult. I own multiple suits, if you must know.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve concedes with a laugh. “Let’s go before you get a closer look at my wardrobe choices.”

“I’ve seen your clothes, bro. You got all sorts of wonders in that closet of yours. I mean, really, who needs that many cargo pants and plaid shirts?”

“I will have you know that I look great in plaid.”

Sam shakes his head. “Whatever, man. Let’s go before we’re late.”

Steve follows Sam out of his room. He grabs his phone, wallet and keys from the kitchen table and then mentally double checks that the windows are all locked before they make their way out the door and to the taxi waiting for them. His hands are shaking as the car drives. Tonight is going to be either a great night or a great disaster. He just wishes he could tell the future and see which one it will turn out to be.

* * *

* * *

 

         The closer and closer they get to Stark Tower the more and more Steve feels like he’s going to explode. The feeling starts off like a tiny ember in his chest and then gradually spreads until his entire upper body is tense, ready to evolve into a full blow fire and devastate the forest that is Steve’s mind. He knows, goddamnit, that the anxiety - the thing that’s making his leg bounce up and down and making his hands refuse to stop fidgeting – is getting a hold of him. His brain stops working, stops controlling his breathing until he is actively forcing his body to breath, to slow down and maintain control. He can’t do this; he can’t have an anxiety attack not now. Not when he’s supposed to be on his way to a party, to Bucky.

Ah, but that’s it, he realises closing his eyes as it hits him. It’s not the party he’s anxious about, it’s talking to Bucky. His left hand smooth out his pants over his thighs, trying to stop the shaking of his leg, and then presses down, his nails digging into the material until he feels a sharp pain. He concentrates on that, makes his mind think of maintaining the strength of his action, of the pain said action is giving him, and not on what’s about to happen.

He thinks he’s got it under control, but his eyes remain closed and his head has leaned back without his knowledge and it’s those two actions that alert Sam, someone trained as a therapist, trained to see when someone needs help, to study Steve from the corner of his eye. He feels Sam’s eyes on him but it’s too much for his anxious mind to keep track of. His hand releases it’s hold on his shaking thigh, the pain subsiding immediately, as he opens his eyes and turns to Sam, managing a weak smile.

Sam isn’t buying it. Steve wouldn’t have bought it either.

“Are you alright?” he whispers, eyeing the driver in front of them. “You lookin’ kinda pale.”

“I don’t like parties,” Steve lies, straightening in his seat and hiding his shaking hands by folding them in his lap. “Especially ones with people I don’t know in a place I’ve never been in.”

“I know what you mean,” Sam says. He takes a deep breath, studying Steve for a long pause and, in that moment when Sam’s eyes narrow, Steve knows he’s about to be called out on his bullshit. His mother always told him his face wasn’t built for lying. “Wanna tell me now or should I just pretend that you didn’t just lie to me?”

Steve blinks, looking away from Sam and to the hands on his lap. He hadn’t even bothered to get the charcoal out from under his nails when he was getting ready, his mind too preoccupied. What kind of person goes to a Stark event with dirty fingernails? He fidgets, feeling like a child getting scolded by their parent, and shrugs.

“Is it… Bucky?”

“What?”

“You guys looked pretty… friendly this afternoon. But as far as I know, you two haven’t spoken alone in hours. We’ve been sorta cock-blocking you this whole day – totally unintentionally but still.”

“Why do you care so much what happens between me and Bucky?” Steve snaps. “It’s not like it concerns you or anyone else for that matter.”

Sam bites his lower lip and nods. Steve is about to apologise, to take everything back and explain that he didn’t mean it the way it sounded when Sam leans forward and says to the driver, “can you drop us off on the next block? Thanks.”

“Sam? What are you-“ The taxi drives to a stop a block later, the driver turning to both men after stopping the meter. Sam hands him the money, telling him to keep the change and gets out of the car, leaving Steve to mumble a thanks to the driver and then scramble out of the taxi after Sam who’s already walking away. He runs after Sam calling out his name. “Sam? What the hell? Wait up!”

“Starbucks?” Sam asks when Steve catches up to him. “Or should we get a smoothie?”

“What?”

Sam stops, turning to Steve. “Do you want coffee or a smoothie?”

“I – uh – coffee, I guess?”

* * *

That’s how they end up sitting in a Starbucks silently sipping on expensive coffee while listening to some strange pop song that Steve only vaguely recognises. Apart from asking for his drink order, Sam hasn’t said a word to Steve. He doesn’t know why, he’s tried to start a conversation twice already but Sam replies are short and all his attempts do is make things uncomfortable.

Sam, for his part, seems completely at ease. He’s on his phone, texting someone or maybe he’s on Facebook judging by the way he’s swiping on the screen. Steve has his phone in his pocket but doesn’t take it out, he just sits in front of Sam on the other side of the tiny tables that the Starbucks location has running along it’s side walls. There’s few people sitting, even with how crowded the café is, everyone forming a nice line by the register and impatiently waiting for their turn. Steve watches them for a while, his fingers twitching for a pencil and a paper.

He always loved to go to cafes and study people, to watch them in their natural environment - the way they moved, looked around, pretended to study the menu – while they though no one was looking. It made his imagination go wild with possible drawing ideas, carving out entire histories for the customers as he sketched them on paper. He’s not done that for a long time.

He turns to Sam as he pockets his phone and drink the last of his coffee.

“Natasha just got to the party, says it’s not a typical Stark event,” Sam informs him. “She says it’s more like a retirement party than a Stark party.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know. But the night is still young so who knows,” Sam replies. “But we do have to get going, Stark isn’t going to serve dinner until everyone is there. Me, you and few others are left. I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna get on Clint’s bad side if he doesn’t get the food he was promised.”

Steve looks at his watch and winces. They should have been there twenty minutes ago. He drinks the rest of his coffee, it was only lukewarm by now, and nods. “Let’s get going then.”

After throwing away their cups, they make their way out of the Starbucks and into the New York street. They walk for a bit, silently agreeing to walk until one of them finally asked what needed to be asked. Steve hates the silence they share now more than the silence at the café because at least there he had something to do.

“Why did we get coffee instead of going to a party where there’s probably gonna be coffee?”

“You looked like you were ready to open the car door and jump into traffic,” Sam says. “I thought a nice walk and some fresh air might help. Plus, it gave you more time to work out whatever was freaking you out.”

“I – thanks, Sam. But I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. But, hey, if you wanna keep pretending that you are, that’s all you. I’m off the clock so I’m not going to force you to talk but, as your friend, know that I’m here for you if you wanna talk.”

Steve smiles sadly, the ember in his chest igniting once more except this time he doesn’t let it consume him. He’s got Sam at his side, someone willing to listen, so he talks. He tells him about the last few days, about Bucky’s visit, about what Phil said at Avengers that morning. He tells him about the sense of belonging he felt when he instinctively wrapped his arm around Bucky’s leg or the way his hands were in Bucky’s hair, caressing his scalp, before he even knew what he was doing. He tells him about missing half of the movie in order to watch Bucky sleep, tracing his strong jaw line and aquiline nose with his eyes and wishing he had the courage to reach over and feel his soft skin under his fingers.

He tells him everything that’s run through his head since he first opened the door to Bucky this morning, letting himself be dragged to a movie day with his friends when his initial intention was to watch Bob Ross videos and stew over old memories and regrets. He tells him that he'd decided to tell Bucky everything and then the longer they drove the more he felt like telling Bucky was an impossible feat.

Sam listens silently, his brow furrowing deeply the more Steve talks. And boy, does Steve talk. It feels like a faucet that had been clogged was suddenly fixed, water that had wanted to pass through finally able to run free. It felt… good to let it all out, to let some _one_ in on what he was feeling, let someone else listen to the internal dialogue that was plaguing him so much. Because that’s what it was – his inner voice telling him that, no matter what he did, there is always going to be another reason for why he shouldn’t follow his heart.

All Steve wanted to do was follow his heart… but his brain, the one that called the shots and told him what to do, didn’t want what his heart wanted.

“So, yeah,” Steve trails off. “That’s… everything. Sorry, it’s a lot. I had a lot of things to get off my chest and it just sorta spilled out. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I do this for a living remember?” Sam reaches for his phone and says, “If we don’t get there soon, Natasha is gonna haveta sedate Clint.”

Steve chuckles. “Seriously? We ate like three hours ago. There’s no way he’s still hungry.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where he puts all that food he eats. He’s very lithe for someone who eats sixty times a day,” Sam says as they get to a street corner. He looks around until he spots a free taxi and waves his arm in the air until it drives up to them. He opens the door, leans in to tell the driver their destination. Steve is about to get in when Sam stops him. “You want my advice? Tell Bucky everything you just told me. Leave it in his hands just like he left your mom’s note in yours. He might not be good at making the first move, but if he’s confronted he won’t back off.”

Steve nods slowly and then gets into the taxi, Sam getting in a moment later. Before the taxi merges into oncoming traffic, Steve turns to Sam and says, “thanks. You’re a good friend, Sam.”

“You gonna make me blush, Steve,” he teases. “But you’re welcome.”  
  



	11. Clint and The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint weighs is on the situation before Natasha fixes everything.

****When Clint steps foot inside Stark Industries, he winces. _So much light_ , he thinks, _or is it that I'm a vampire?_ He shakes his head and follows Natasha who knows her way around the towers since, duh, it's where she works as a lawyer-slash-bodyguard-slash-keep Tony from blowing shit up while Pepper is away.

Really, Clint is a lucky man to have scored someone as badass as Natasha all the way back in high school. Why she stayed with him while he had a face full of zits, a mouth full of braces and a resting bitch face while she just turned even more beautiful and badass with age, is a wonder to him. When he lost his hearing a few years back and struggled with adjusting, she was the only person who never got aggravated or annoyed with him. She learned sign language alongside him, she helped him practice reading lips, and she made sure he went to all of his doctor’s appointments even when he felt like shit on legs and couldn’t get out of bed.

She could do so much better. And yet, she's picked him, stuck with him for this long. And isn't that just a small miracle. It makes him want to try to be the man she deserves … right before she slaps him upside the head and tells him to stop trying to be someone else.

“If I didn’t _want_ to be with Clinton Francis Barton,” she says every time, “I _wouldn’t_ be with him, dumbass. Now go back to sleep.”

He loves her, truly.

Even more now that he's met Tony Stark and has been adopted into the Stark family. Well, adopted is a strong word but there is totally some sort of bond between Tony and he, even if no one else can see. Plus, Tony promised to let him tag along next time he went to Tahiti or any other exciting vacation as long as he got his shots and stuff. Which, by the way, ow. But he'll do it if it means going on vacation with Natasha without having to spend any money.

It's not like he's strapped for cash, no. In fact, he's got four bags of cash left over in his basement after buying the building, paying for the materials for Thor and his crew to make repairs and then some for Melinda so she could sneak it into Phil’s repair fund while he wasn't looking. But he's always been a saver. He hasn't touched a single crisp dollar from any bag for himself, not even to replace his outdated hearing aids. It doesn't feel right, ya know?

Maybe he can call Barney and pay off all those bookies and dealers he owes money to. And then maybe he'll get to meet Natasha for the first time. That would be great. A great reason to load off some of that money. Stupid tracksuits didn't deserve it anyway. And now he's got hella cash and a cute dog that Natasha secretly cuddles when Clint’s not around. But then he’d have to tell Natasha (and Bucky by extension since he’s crashing at his place) about how he got the money and how he suddenly owns a building (and why he’s not living in it right now). And that won’t be a pleasant conversation....

Which reminds him, he should get some dog food before going home tonight. Also pizza. Maybe Tony will let him take a doggy bag with all that expensive food he's gonna be serving. There's a goal to reach for the night - get a doggy bag from Tony.

Every time he goes out, Clint likes to set goals for himself. Usually they are things like “don't get too drunk” or “don't unbuckle your pants in public”. He learned from helping Sam around at the VA that setting goals can help to keep an organized mind especially for someone who might be otherwise anxious in public. While Clint isn't exactly anxious around others, he knows Steve is.

It hasn't happened in a while and the last time it did, Bucky and Nat had been right there and helped him through the panic attack but Clint hated being the only one in their immediate group of friends who wasn't able to help. He stood there, motionless, waiting for them to help Steve calm down, to help him breathe normally. Usually it’s Clint, who’s got a general knowledge of everything because he has a lot of time off since he doesn’t _technically_ have a job, that knows what to do when emergency-type things happen but that day, he was paralysed. Seeing that fear, that surge of emotions in Steve’s face was just… it left Clint feeling like a useless bag of skin.

So, he read up on everything he could find on the internet about anxiety attacks, panic attacks and all sorts of things that might be related to anxiety. Now he’s a damned expert - as much as someone without a medical license and whose knowledge comes from the internet can be at least - because he won’t let anything happen to his best friends.

That’s what they were - he, Steve and Bucky - from the very beginning in grade school when they met. Technically Bucky and Clint had been friends first right up until the fifth grade when Bucky found Steve in an alley getting beat up by Frankie Bertinelli and his gang. One day Bucky left his spot in the lunch line and came back with this scrawny kid with wide blue eyes and Clint didn’t even blink. And soon the three were causing trouble and raising hell. Until they met Natasha and that obvious trouble turned more subdued. Suddenly things were more covert - like an elegant spy game between the four and whoever got caught was dead.

Ah, man, high school was great. The past was great, everything was great.

Until now.

Now he was divided between his two best friends and he didn’t know what to do. Like with the anxiety attack event, Clint read up on everything he could get his hands on about breakups. From young adult books to watching soap operas and _telenovelas_ and watching daytime talk shows, Clint watched and read everything and anything that might be useful and making his two friends see what he had seen since the day in fifth grade when Bucky pulled a reluctant tiny Steve from the back of the line to the front of the line at lunch. He didn’t want to take sides, he didn’t want to have to divide his time, he just wanted his friends to get their heads out of their asses and, instead, stick their heads in each others asses. That would make them all play nice. But they didn’t _see_ it. They never had until very recently.

He’s always known about Bucky’s feelings towards Steve. Well, not _know_. Natasha had been the first to suggest that Bucky might like Steve in that way. Clint thought she’d been trying to fuck with him, just joking around, but then he’d payed close attention to Bucky and, yup, there it was. That look that Clint would see in Natasha’s eye whenever she looked at Clint after he’d said something or done something she didn’t expect from him - pride mixed with raw love. Bucky had loved Steve since high school, since before he even knew what love was, since before Natasha had conquered Clint’s heart, since before any of them even knew how their bodies worked.

The last month, the way Bucky had quickly closed himself off and shut everyone else around him out, was proof of how deep that love really was. Clint likes to think that, should Natasha ever get a grip and leave him for a better man, he would be okay. But the reality is that he would probably do the same thing Bucky has been doing for a month. He would close himself off, bury himself in his job and say “fuck the world.” But he also likes to think that if that were to happen than Bucky would try with all of his ability to get Clint out of his stupor and back into the living world. So, that’s why Clint is staying at Bucky’s place. That’s why he’s encouraging everything from pizza and movie nights to random walks to the store for things they don’t need. It wasn’t working … so he called in reinforcements.

Natasha hadn’t _technically_ done anything yet but Operation: Stucky was just beginning according to her.

Step One: Get Bucky and Steve into the same room for an extended amount of time.

Step Two: Get Steve kinda drunk so he stops thinking so much and say something dumb, again.

Step Three: Look away when they start to make out.

Step Four: Be godparents to their children because god knows they don’t want little Natasha/Clint hybrids running around in the world. (It’s not ready for that level of badass and procrastination.)

Step one didn’t go so well since Bucky fell asleep during the second movie. Though they had been alone to for half an hour and that seemed to fuck everything up judging by the awkward silence they had going on when they were walking back home after picking up the pizza.

Step two, marginally more out of their hands than step one, relied on two things. One - Mr. I Never Drink Rogers needed to drink enough to let his stupid brain give his emotional filter the night off and two - that Bucky wasn’t such a nice guy and give Steve space. Those two steps were needed for step three and four to happen and what better place to get Steve drunk and get Bucky to talk about his feelings but Stark Tower, home of very expensive and fancy as hell liquor.

If all those fancy bottles Tony has lining the back wall of his living room don’t get these two together, then they are gonna have to do Sam’s plan and lock the two in a room and hope they hashed things out like teenagers. Tony, overhearing their conversation at the grocery store, even offered to let them use one of his test labs so they wouldn’t break anything or try to get out. The labs, he said, had no way out if the safety protocols were removed. Not gonna lie, that scared Clint a bit before he shook it off and wrapped an arm around Tony, leading him to the bread aisle.

When they enter the conference room converted into a party room, Bucky is immediately ambushed by Kate and Darcy, pulling at his sleeve until he follows them into the crowd. He shoots them a grin before disappearing, following the two excited women. Clint turns to Natasha with a grin of his own. She rolls her eyes but there’s a fond smile to her lips.

“Sam is at Starbucks with Steve,” she says a few minutes later as they are walking to the bar to get a drink.

Tony hasn’t spotted them yet, no one else has either as a matter a fact and Clint doesn’t know whether to be offended or relieved. Not only is the Shield crew here but also Phil and his people and all of Thor’s friends along with everyone’s families. There’s kids running around, chasing each other through super expensive shiny stuff without a care in the world. If Clint was doing that right now, Nat would have snapped him back into attention but can’t do that to kids right? Abuse or something, which is something frown upon in public by most people.

“Everything okay?” he asks as Natasha goes behind the bar and starts to scour the place for something. She finds a bottle, pushing it on the table towards Clint and then gets two cups. Clint looks at the stuff and immediately recognises it. He grabs it, turning the bottle to read the label and groans, “Oh no.”

“They’re gonna be late, but everything is fine.” She smiles and takes the bottle from him, pouring some into the cups. “And oh yes. This is gonna fix everything, babe.”

“When has Russian Vodka fixed anything ever?” Clint mumbles but take the drink nonetheless and throws it back. It takes like rubbing alcohol burning his insides. He winces and puts the cup down. Natasha throws her drink back too except she doesn’t react much. There’s a slight wrinkle to her nose but other than that, it’s like she drank a cup of water or something. What a badass. “So… what now?”

Natasha leans in, arms crossed over the table, and says, “shall we play a game?”

* * *

By the time Sam and Steve make it to the party, Clint has started to talk about business with Thor and Tony. Now that the managers were out the way (Tony said not to ask why Pierce and Sitwell suddenly decided to leave Shield and go work somewhere else but the look he and Nat shared said a lot) they were able to plan things out without too much fuzz. Tony didn’t seem worried with the price that Thor quoted after talking to Bruce and his brother Loki who knows a thing or two about restaurant renovations, but then again, this was Tony Freaking Stark so two hundred grand was probably how much he paid for that one ugly painting that was hanging on the wall by the elevator.

Clint took out his phone once Thor and Tony started talking specifics. Types of drywall and rewiring really wasn’t Clint’s thing. He was more of the carpenter in their little operation, working occasionally when customers wanted custom wood or metal works. He could work metal and wood and all sorts of materials into awesome shapes but once you started talking about installing a windmill on the roof, the Clint’s knowledge is done with.

Clint clicks on Facebook, scrolling through the screen and liking stuff from his feed when he sees _the post_. Oh, shit. He’s gotta tell Natasha! He looks around and sees her off by the bar by Bucky, drinking the vodka like it was water or something. Clint swears, those two have the stomach and throat linings of champs. He shakes his head, taking a picture of his screen and sending it off to Sam. He shakes his head, he’ll tell Natasha later when she’s away from Bucky.

He turns back to the conversation which had turned to permits. Phil who was listening off to the side shared some ideas about that, he could even get them in contact with some people he knew for the permits and such which Thor thanked him with by clapping him on the shoulder and then pulling him in for a mighty hug. Clint had to pry Thor’s giant arms away from Phil in order to set him free. He led Phil away, just for a breather before he said anything else worthy of Thor’s excellent rib crushing hugs.

“You takin’ notes? For when you fix up Avengers?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to afford it any time soon,” Phil says with a one arm shrug. He looks down to the floor for a second and then looks Clint right in the eye and adds, “even when you and Melinda try to sneak in money into my renovating account thinking I won’t notice.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Clint replies with wide eyes realising that he’d been caught. “Oh, hey! Look who just arrived: Sam and Steve! I’m gonna go say hi, see ya later, Phil!” Clint wouldn’t say he ran away but yeah he ran away. He needs to find Melinda, but first… Operation: Stucky.

“We miss anything?” Sam asks when Clint approaches them. “They serving the food yet?”

“I think there’s one guy missing but I’m starving and they’re talking about food over there in their little huddle so…” Clint leads them away from the entrance and towards Natasha who is sitting at the bar with Bucky, the bottle of vodka between them. “Hey, look who I found.”

Bucky turns around with a soft smile that almost reaches his eyes when he sees Steve. Steve looks uncomfortable in his blue suit with a vest underneath. He’s pulled his hair back, run some product through it and then ruffled it sometime between getting ready and arriving, some of the strands of hair falling across his forehead. The vest makes his waist look tiny as hell, good job Natasha for suggesting he wear this suit instead of the other one, the sad one that he wore at Sarah’s funeral and then stashed in his closet never to be seen again. Yup, this one is way nicer and less sad.

But he isn’t the only one looking at Steve. Bucky’s eyes go wide as he takes in Steve’s suit, looking at him from the tip of his toes to the top of his perfect hair. When Steve unbuttons his suit jacket, showing off that blue vest underneath, Clint thinks Bucky might just have a heart attack. It’s like he’s never seen Steve in a vest before which he has, several times. Maybe he’s just never seen Steve in a vest while not filtering his eyes with friendship. For the first time he looks like he’s looking at Steve through the eyes of an interested lover and not of a friend. It’s interesting, though, that he blushes and swivels his chair around and misses the appraising look that Steve gives him in return.

Goddamit, these two are giant idiots. Maybe locking them in a room would work better than letting them try to talk on their own.

“Bucky thinks he looks like he’s going to a funeral,” Clint says, completely lying as he goes to take the seat next to Natasha. Sam takes the seat on the other side of Bucky, ordering himself a drink, while Steve stays standing, hands in his pocket. “What do you think, Steve? Doesn’t he look great?”

“Y-yeah,” Steve croaks out. He clears his throat, a blush coloring his cheeks. Bucky swivels his chair around, leaning back on the bar on his elbows, drink hanging off his left hand. He looks amused, but he could also just be buzzed since it was Natasha’s vodka they were drinking. “I think you look great, Buck.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky replies, swallowing the rest of his drink and getting off the stool as if he hadn’t just drunk poison disguised as vodka. He puts the cup on the bar and says, “I need to find Tony about closing Shield next week.”

“What about it?” Natasha asks both out of curiosity and so that he wouldn’t leave so soon. “I thought you agreed to the closing schedule we drew up.”

“Yeah but we didn’t alert any of the regulars,” Bucky replies. He runs his left hand through his hair, pulling at is slightly at the base of the neck, and shakes his head. “I just don’t think we should close without telling any of the customers, you know? At least a sign so they know and can make plans, especially for the old folks who come in for the early bird special and the night owls who get their breakfast at midnight.”

“I’ll go with you,” Natasha offers. “Tony can get pretty carried away. It’ll probably take some time to file the papers and get the permits, not to mention get Thor’s crew together and a whole host of things.”

The two walk off but not before Natasha looks pointedly at the bottle and then at Steve. Okay, okay, Clint gets it. He’s going to get Steve drunk or at least buzzed and they are going to try again. Seriously, the plan to lock them in a windowless room is sounding pretty great right about now.

* * *

By the time dinner is served, waiters coming of the back door in a neat line carrying plates of food, Clint is starving. Peter, one of Bucky’s cooks, is the last one to arrive because, he said, he was doing homework on the train and missed his stop. Clint doesn’t know whether he’d being truthful or not but the look he gets from Bucky says the kid really was doing homework in a New York train. Tony immediately asks about his homework and they start talking about advance physics and that right there is when Clint stops paying attention and turns towards the kitchen just as the waiters come out with all the delicious expensive food.

Clint wouldn’t say he ran over to the table where the food was being laid out buffet style, but yeah, he sped walked his way over, grabbing the plate and waiting anxiously for the rest of the food to be set out. People began to form a line behind him, passing each other plates from the stack the waiters and waitresses had put out. Clint grabs a utensils and lots of napkins, stuffing them into his pockets and waits for a nod from the waiter to give him the okay to pile food on his plate.

Sam bumps him with his shoulder when he leans over to get a plate and utensils. He stays beside Clint, looking on as the food continues to be brought out. The whole spread could probably feed lots of staring kids and it makes Clint think about all the waste there’s going to be. Maybe he can ask Tony to donate it if there’s any leftovers. There’s a shelter a few blocks down that Clint knows is in dire need of food. Maybe they can go down there to feed some hungry souls.

Clint remembers very little about his childhood before moving to Brooklyn and meeting Bucky but he does remember the pain of hunger. And, looking at all this food, it almost makes his stomach shrivel up just thinking about all the hungry people who don’t have the privilege of knowing Tony Stark and having an entire buffet be catered.

Yeah, he’s totally gonna ask Tony if they can donate what’s leftover.

“Did you get my text?” Clint asks Sam. “The picture?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers.

“So, did you ask him about it?” Clint says bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watches the food being set up. “You know, what Sharon wrote on Facebook?”

“Yeah, I got it and no, I didn’t ask.”

“You want me to do it cuz it’s pretty major,” Clint reminds him. “If she’s coming back next week, then we don’t have a lot of time to get the two lovebirds together.”

“I’ll ask him after we get him sober again.” Sam looks towards Steve at the bar. “He’s about ready to drown his sorrows. You would think that they broke up or something. He looks heartbroken.”

“It doesn’t help that the vodka is Russian. That shit will drown you, bury you and make a whole new continent on you.”

“I’ll get him lots of that fancy bread with cheese on top, soak up all the alcohol. Maybe some of those breadsticks too.”

“Just don’t touch that mac and cheese with bacon, cuz that’s mine,” Clint threatens. “But, legit, we gotta ask if he’s heard from her. He doesn’t have a Facebook and he hasn’t said anything to you, right?” Sam shakes his head. “Which means he probably doesn’t know. Good thing I was snooping around while waiting for you two to get here. Why were you so late anyway?”

“Um, we stopped at Starbucks. Steve was sorta about to freak out about comin’ here so we went for some coffee.”

Clint turns, his face pinched with worry. He looks at Steve, still hunched over his drink at the bar like one of those alcoholic cops on television. “Is he okay?”

“I thought he was but now, I don’t know. Maybe I should talk to Bucky.”

“Nat’s got that covered,” Clint reminds him. “She’s gonna finagle him to tell her what’s crawled up his butt. He woke up all sad about not talking to Steve and then he was all happy that Steve picked out his outfit so I have no idea what that was earlier.”

“I’m starting to think we should just lock them in Tony’s lab,” Sam says with a shake of his head.

“Bro, me too!” Clint turns back to the buffett, just in time for the closest waiter to give him a nod. “But first, food time!”

* * *

“So, what is wrong with you?” Natasha asks Bucky, pulling him away from the small group that has gathered around Tony and Thor. They went from talking about a timeline for the renovation to talking about what kind of expensive beers and wines they could start to see if they had a wine cellar. From there everyone started to tell Tony their ideas. Bucky was just about ready to leave when he felt Natasha’s hand on his arm, leading him away.

“What do you mean?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“You said you were going to get Steve alone and talk to him,” Natasha reminds him. “I thought you were going to get everything out in the open once and for all. That’s what you said in the ride over, so why the hell did you run away?”

“I’m regretting talking to you about my feelings in the car,” Bucky murmurs. With his free hand, he runs his fingers through his hair and then shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he flaked out when he saw Steve walking in, giant smile on his face. He doesn’t know why his hands started to shake and all he could hear was his heart pumping in his ears. But he can’t tell her that, she might slap him upside the head and point out what she’d been pointing out for weeks. And that’s not something he wants to hear right now, not when he’s too weak to talk to Steve. “Look, I’ll get to it. I’ll talk to him before the night ends, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say. There’s no point in me repeating the same things over and over again when the only thing that matters is that Steve doesn't really feel the same way.”

“How do you know that?” She asks sounding exasperated. “You two looked pretty cozy this afternoon.”

“That’s just... “ he trails off, unable to find a suitable word to describe what had happened. He settles for a shrug and looks towards the bar where he left Steve almost half an hour ago. He’s still there, nursing a drink, and looking miserable. Bucky looks at Natasha and asks, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Kinda, yeah. Let me help you fix it.”

* * *

Natasha leads him to a back office somewhere down the hall from the party. She swipes a card over a reader to open the door and it doesn’t escape his notice that the door locks behind him. He eyes the card reader by the door as it closes and hopes to god this isn’t an elaborate joke of some kind. Natasha’s coming back for him, she isn’t locking him inside a room and leaving him there, right?

“What am I doing?” he asks himself, scrubbing his face with hands and sighing into his palms. “What the fuck am I supposed to say that hasn’t been said already?”

He doesn’t wait long before the door opens again. He walks towards it only to stop when Steve walks in, looking sheepishly as he does, with Natasha behind him. She waves the card between her fingers and hands it to Steve who takes it, looking more than a little confused. He must have not seen the card reader on the side of the door, Bucky thinks.

“We’ll save you two some food for when you come out,” Natasha tells them. “Take all the time you need. No one but Stark employees have key card access. Just don’t loose the card.”

She turns to leave, cocking an eyebrow at Bucky before slipping out of the room. The door-clicking close is the only sound heard for a long minute. Bucky looks at Steve, _really_ looks at him, and shit if that vest he’s wearing doesn’t make his heart do cartwheels. Even with his shoulders hunched forwards, like a kid about to be scolded, Steve looks like a model. He should be gracing the covers of Vogue or on some perfume ad for Macy’s and not standing in front of Bucky looking like he’s scared the floor is going to open up and swallow him whole.

Bucky hates to see that look on his face, so he takes a step forward, leaning his head a bit to catch Steve’s eyes.

“Hey,” he says. He waits until Steve looks up and adds, “You look great. I didn’t tell you that earlier.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies with a small twitch of his lips.

“No, thank you for picking out my suit.” Bucky runs a hand down his chest, smoothing out his black shirt and straightening out his black tie.

“You look great too.”

Bucky’s not sure how or when it happened but a second later, they are inches from each other, their eyes meeting accessing each other in a way that they hadn’t done before. Bucky saw Steve’s eyes, the green specs inside the blue of his iris. He saw the freckles that peppered his nose, the light colored mole on his right cheek and the slightly darker one on his left side. He saw the fullness of Steve’s lower lip and the curve of his nose, crooked from that one time in tenth grade when he stood up to a senior and got a broken nose for his trouble.

Bucky saw… everything from the nervous blinks, the tightness of his jaw and the way he was breathing, like he was holding his breath and waiting for something to happen. And it just made him want to lay out everything once and for all.

“We should probably talk about what happened with Phil this morning,” Bucky starts. Steve nods once, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and continues. “I went on a few dates with a guy named Brock. I haven’t seen him for a few days and I guess he didn’t get the idea when I didn’t give him my number. I should have told you before but –“

“You don’t have to explain, Buck,” Steve interrupts. “I was… I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was a giant jerk and-“ He stops himself, seeming to come to a decision. He shakes his head and says, “Fuck it – okay, I was jealous. I’ve been jealous since I saw you with him a few days ago at Avengers. And hearing his name just – I don’t know.”

“Wait – you knew about him? About Brock?” Steve sighs, nodding his head. “So you were jealous of Brock? Why? You’ve made it kinda clear that things haven't changed much between us.”

“You’re the one that ran away on Saturday not me,” Steve points out. “I made the first move. I kissed you and you ran away. How do you think that made me feel, Bucky? I tried to show you how I felt and you ran away from me. And then to hear about Brock, it just sorta suddenly made sense why you needed time to think about being with me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky snaps. “It’s like being in a fucking hurricane with you. I don’t know what Steve I’m going to get half the time! One moment you’re shocked to know I have feelings for you and the next you’re trying to get in my pants. I don’t know what to trust.”

“Every time I – I think about losing you for good, it’s like someone’s ripped a hole in my chest,” Steve admits his voice rising. “And yeah, maybe I haven’t been honest with you this whole time but it’s a hard thing to realize that you’re in love with your best friend, Buck. I haven’t had the time you’ve had to come to terms with it.”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair for the hundredth time just to have something to do with his shaking hands. He looks at Steve who mirrors his action, running his hand through his short blond hair.

“I get that, I do. But you’ve had time now, almost two months to figure it out, to process. I’ve been trying to forget, I told you that before. And if you were able to tell me you could come to love me then you’ve had plenty of time to think. So what’s holding you back, Steve?”

“I-“ Steve works his jaw, biting at his lip and looking away from Bucky.

Bucky waits, watching as Steve walks to the desk that Bucky vaguely remembers noticing and sitting on the chair in front of it. Bucky waits a pause and then follows, sitting on the edge of the desk just off to Steve’s left. He’s about to say something when Steve beats him to it.

“You said yesterday that you needed time to think. Well, I’ve had time to think too. I’ve thought about a lot of things, some that don’t make sense but I – I think maybe I know why I never thought about being with you like that.” He takes a deep breath, pushing himself off the chair to stand in front of Bucky. “I was afraid that, after I lost my mum, if I told you I had a crush on you and you didn’t feel the same way that I would lose you too. I had so many chances to tell you. All the Christmases, birthdays and every holiday in between but I didn’t - I was scared. Terrified of losing you so I didn’t say anything.”

“What are you saying, Steve?”

“I’m saying you aren’t the only one who kept a secret. I was crushing on you so hard in high school, Buck. My mom, she encouraged it, she said it was cute. But when she - when she died I got it in my head that I had to _be_ someone to honor her. That I had to work hard and finish college and then get a job and - and I don’t know. I kept making excuses for why I shouldn’t tell you how I felt and eventually it just felt easier to not let myself feel that way about you. And then I met Sharon and it…”

“It what?”

“It felt great, being with her felt great. She's driven, brutally honest, kindhearted and intelligent and humble to a fault, she’s exactly the kind of person I thought this new me would end up with.” Steve bites his lower lip, trying to gather his thoughts as best as he could given the amount of alcohol he’s drank just a few minutes before. “I lover her, Buck. But it’s different with you. It feels natural to be near you, to want you and I’ve tried so hard to fight it because I’m scared. I can’t lose you too. And now that I have, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“My reason isn’t any better,” Bucky offers with a tight smile. “I shoulda talked to you after your birthday but I chickened out and ran away instead. I went off to Russia with Nat and the whole time there I was trying so hard to forget about my stupid crush on you. But the moment I saw you, it hit me that I would never be over you. I thought you didn’t care about me like that so,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair, his nails biting at the back of his neck. “So, I tried to pretend it never happened. That it was all just a dream and I tried to make myself believe that us being friends was enough. And it was… for a while.”

Steve takes a step forward. “It was a long while, Buck.”

“Would it have made a difference? If I’d told you all this years ago, would it have made any difference?” Bucky asks again, hoping for a different answer than last time.

“I – I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly.

“Yeah, me either.” Bucky tries to hide his disappointment, keeping the feeling locked inside for another time. They're finally getting somewhere and he's not about to ruin it again by asking hypotheticals.

“But let’s not dwell on that,” Steve says after a pause. He bites his lower lip for a second and then takes a deep breath. His heart pounds inside his chest, his lungs feel like he’s drowning and his hands are shaking but if he doesn’t get the words out, if he doesn’t ask Bucky now then it’s never going to happen. If they stall any longer to be together, they might not have another chance to talk this honestly again. “I’m not dating anyone anymore. How about you?”

Bucky shakes his head, a smile threatening to take over his face. “Nope.”

“Good,” Steve replies. He takes a step back and holds out his hand. “I’m hungry, are you hungry?”

Bucky smiles widely, grabbing onto Steve’s hand. “Starving.”

“How about dinner? There’s this romantic place called Pizza Hut a few blocks away. I think I can get us in.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head and letting himself be led towards the elevator. “Really? Pizza Hut is the best you can do, Romeo?”

“What? You feelin’ like burgers cuz there’s also this great place called McDonald's that-”

“Pizza Hut it is!” Bucky exclaims as Steve presses the card to the reader to unlock the door. He turns to look at their joined hands and laughs. Steve looks at him with a cocked eyebrow, pulling him along into the hallway and towards the elevator. “I - I just never dreamed I would be going on a date with you after a Stark Party.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you need to have better dreams,” Steve replies just as the elevator arrives, just seconds after he pushes the button. Bucky bumps his shoulder against Steve’s as they enter, pressing the button for the first floor. As the door closes Steve turns to Bucky and he says, “seriously though, I am a giant douchebag for what I said this morning. Everything with Brock just -”

“It’s alright,” Bucky interrupts. “I shoulda told you about Brock beforehand. It was my fault for not thinking. But that’s over, hell, it never even got started so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“All mine?”

“All yours,” Bucky confirms. “What’s that thing your mom useta say? ‘Nothing’s over till the end of the line is in sight.” Steve hums softly beside him, turning to look at Bucky with a small smile. “Well, pal, it’s me and you ‘till the end of the line from now on.”

“That’s gonna be one long long line.”

“It better be. I’ve waited long ass time for the line to even be visible.”

“Worth the wait?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what kinda crust you choose,” Bucky teases. “But yeah, totally worth the wait.”

As they exit the elevator, Bucky can’t help but think that that was too easy.

 


End file.
